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\IR  OF  BLUE  EYES 


A  NOVEL 


BY 

THOMAS    HARDY 

HOR    OF    "under   the    GREENWOOD    TR):  f  ."    "DESPERATE    REMEDIES.,"    ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
JOHN   W.   LOVELL   COMPANY 

■  '  ■         Street,  corner  Mission  Place 


r^ 


TROWS 

rniMTma  and  bookbindinq  cowfaw, 

NEW  YORIC 


W  MORSE  STErHEW 


1-  J■^"r  /:ju.- 
vo. 


'^m 


riAli'^ 


NAMES  OF  THE  PERSONS. 


Elfride  Swancourt,  a  young  lady. 

Stephen  Smith,  an  architect. 

Henry  Knight,  a  reviewer  and  essayist. 

Christopher  Swancourt,  a  clergyman. 

Spenser  Hugo  Luxellian,  a  lord. 

Helen,  Lady  Luxellian,  his  wife. 

Mary  and  Kate,  tvjo  little  girls, 

Charlotte  Troyton,  a  rich  widoiv. 

Lord  Liixellian^s  master-masofi. 

The  master-mason'' s  wife. 

A  dazed  7?tan-servant. 

An  imperturbable  groom. 

Other  servants^  a  landlady^  sexton^  clowns^  ^c.  ^c. 

Scene  :  Chiefly  near  the  coast  of  a  western  county  ;  a> 
casionally  in  London, 


\ 


\ 


A  Pair  of-  Blue  Eyes. 


*  ix  violet  in  the  youth  of  primy  nature. 
Forward  not  permanent,  sweet  not  lasting. 
The  perfume  and  suppliance  of  a  minute — 
No  more." 

CHAPTER  I. 

*  A  FAIR  VESTAL,  THRONED   IN  THE  WEST.' 

CONCERNING  the  beings  categorized  above  it  may  b€ 
premised  that  of  the  aim  and  meaning  of  their  ap- 
pearance upon  the  earth,  of  what,  in  its  highest  sense,  they 
came  into  the  world  to  do — if  much,  if  little,  or  whether  to 
be  only  lookers-on  and  to  do  nothing  at  all — no  analysis 
will  be  given.  Even  from  their  social  life — a  congeries  of 
significant  phenomena — we  sip  but  a  sweet  or  bitter  here 
and  there  in  flying  along.  In  other  words,  on  the  subject 
only  of  some  nodes  in  the  orbits  of  their  lives  is  it  the 
province  of  this  narrative  to  be  diffuse. 

Though  the  whole  material  and  vehicle  of  the  story  is 
here  before  us  in  parvo^  who  shall  put  limits  to  the  possible 
extent  of  good,  bad,  or  indifferent  circumstances  that,  in 
connection  with  these  few  persons  and  this  narrow  scene, 
may  have  arisen,  declined,  and  been  finally  deposited  in  the 
Past  as  mere  matter  for  inspection  by  eyes  who  know  or 
care  where  to  find  it  ?  If  the  reader  has  taken  the  trouble 
to  look  down  the  list  with  anything  like  kindly  curiosity, 
and  given  a  minute  of  his  time  to  the  idle  imagination  of 
why  such  a  company  was  ever  brought  together  by  Fate. 
Chance,  Law,  or  Providence,  so  much  the  better.  He  will 
perceive  from  their  general  standing,  that  three  or  four  of 


2  •  ''-A  PAIR  OK'^LUE  EYES. 

them  may"hkveil;^fii?,/ja'p^ble  characters,  whose  emotional 
experiences  deserve  record. 

Elfride  Swancourt  is  reading  a  romance. 

She  is  sitting  alone  in  the  drawing-room  of  a  remote 
country  vicarage,  hoping  for  a  kindly  ending  to  the  story, 
or,  as  it  is  put  in  homely  phrase,  that  it  may  end  well. 

It  happened  that  she  was  to  be  disappointed.  The  title 
of  the  novel  it  is  not  worth  while  to  give,  but  it  detailed  in 
its  conclusion  the  saddest  contretemps  that  ever  lingered  in  a 
gentle  and  responsive  reader's  mind  since  fiction  has  taken 
a  turn — for  better  or  for  worse — for  analyzing  rather  than 
depicting  character  and  emotion. 

Elfride  was  just  dismissing  the  second  volume — its 
crimson  covers  making  one  pale  pink  hand  that  clasped 
them  as  intensely  white  by  their  contrast  as  the  pallid  leaf 
anderlying  the  other  caused  that  to  tinge  itself  almost  rosy. 
She  read  on  with  a  pulse  which,  as  each  leaf  was  turned, 
quickened  with  misgiving.  She  began  to  suspect  the  trick 
of  the  issue,  and  dreaded  it — as  an  inexorable  fate  with 
regard  to  the  imaginary  beings  therein  concerned — as  she 
dreaded  a  wasp's  sting  in  regard  to  herself 

She  takes  up  the  third  volume,  and  o^ens  it.  The  list 
of  contents  was  disclosed,  in  which  the  author  had,  some- 
what indiscreetly,  too  plainly  revealed  the  sorrow  that  was 
impending.  Elfride  was  too  honest  a  reader  to  resolve  her 
suspense  into  a  more  endurable  certainty  by  taking  a  sur- 
reptitious glance  at  the  end,  yet  too  much  of  a  woman  to 
be  satisfied  with  going  straight  on.  Her  eye  strayed  to  the 
contents  page  to  scan  it,  and  so  help  her  prognostication. 
No,  even  that  was  hardly  fair  :  she  would  not  look.  She 
put  her  little  palm  over  the  relentless  chapter-headings — to 
lift  it  after  all,  and  look  under  at  the  suspicious  group  of 
terse  phrases  which  meant  so  much  to  the  initiated.  Mis- 
giving increased  like  Genevieve's  at  her  lover's  ditty  of  the 
Miserable  Knight.  Her  heart  still  librating  between  hope 
and  fear,  fear  permanently  prevailed.     Her  hero  died. 

Elfride  smothered  an  inward  sigh  and  murmured, 
"  What  a  weak  thing  I  am !  " 

She  never  forgot  that  novel,  and  those  minutes  of  sad- 
ness.    Not  that  the  story  was  the  most  powerful  she  had 


A  PAIR  Or  BLUE  EYES.  3 

ever  read  j  not  that  those  tears  were  the  bitterest  that  had 
ever  flowed.  But  for  this  reason  :  that  it  was  the  last  time 
it.  her  life  that  her  emotions  were  ever  wound  to  any  height 
by  circumstances  which  never  transpired;  that  the  loves 
and  woes,  expectations  and  despairs,  of  imaginary  beings 
were  ever  able  so  much  to  emulate  her  own  experiences  as 
to  make  a  perceptible  difftrence  to  her  state  of  mind  for  a 
whole  afternoon. 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  Elfride  was  at  this  time  a 
young  creature  whose  emotions  lay  very  near  the  surface  : 
their  nature  more  particularly,  and  as  modified  by  tht 
creeping  hours  of  time,  example  will  illustrate. 

Personally  she  was  the  combination  of  very  interesting 
particulars,  whose  rarity,  however,  lay  in  the  combination 
itself  rather  than  in  the  individual  elements  combined. 
Will  it  be  necessary  to  thrust  her  forward  in  the  garish  day- 
light, and  describe  her  points  as  categorically  as  Cleopatra's 
messenger  described  Octavia's  ?  Hardly.  It  might  vul- 
garize her,  and  rob  her  of  some  of  the  sweetness  which  the 
stolen  glimpses  only  that  will  for  the  present  be  taken  may 
serve  to  heighten.  For  instance,  the  height  of  her  forehead  ; 
the  shape  of  her  nose.  These  things  may  never  be  learnt 
to  the  very  last  page  of  this  narrative. 

There  is,  however,  something  more  than  the  respect 
and  love  of  her  biographer  to  prompt  this  reticence.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  you  did  not  see  the  form  and  substance  of 
her  features  when  conversing  with  her  ;  and  this  charming 
power  of  preventing  a  material  study  of  her  externals  by  an 
interlocutor  originated  not  in  the  invisible  cloak  of  a  well- 
formed  manner  (for  her  manner  was  childish  and  scarcely 
formed),  but  in  the  attractive  crudeness  of  the  remarks 
themselves.  She  had  lived  all  her  life  in  retirement — the 
monsirari  digito  of  idle  men  had  not  flattered  her,  and  at  the 
age  of  nineteen  or  twenty  she  was  no  farther  on  in  social 
consciousness  than  an  urban  young  lady  of  fifteen. 

One  point  in  her,  however,  you  did  notice :  that  was 

her  eyes.     In  them  was  seen  a  sublimation  of  all  of  her  \ 

it  was  not  necessary  to  look  farther :  there  she  lived. 

These  eyes  were  blue  ;  heavenly  blue. 

At  least  heavenly  blue  in  High  Parnassian.     But  at  the 

risk  of  lapsing  into  that  unpleasant  sin,  realism  in  narrative 


4  A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES, 

art,  let  it  be  said  in  sly  prose  that  her  eyes  were,  more  tru- 
ly, blue  as  autumn  distance — blue  as  the  blue  we  see  be- 
tween the  retreating  mouldings  of  hills  and  woody  slopes  on 
a  sunny  September  morning.  A  misty  and  shady  blue, 
that  had  no  beginning  or  surface,  and  was  looked  into  rather 
than  at. 

Of  the  two,  indeed,  perhaps  this  earthly  blue  is  the 
more  beautiful. 

As  to  her  Presence,  it  was  not  powerful ;  it  was  weak. 
Some  women  can  make  their  personality  pervade  the  atmos- 
phere of  a  whole  banqueting  ball ;  Elfride's  was  no  more 
pervasive  than  that  of  a  kitten. 

Notice,  as  Elfride's  own,  the  thoughtfulness  which  ap- 
pears in  the  face  of  the  Madonna  delle  Sedia,  without  its 
rapture  :  the  warmth  and  spirit  of  the  type  of  woman's  fea- 
ture most  common  to  the  beauties — mortal  and  immor- 
tal— of  Rubens,  without  their  prominence  of  fleshly  tone. 
The  characteristic  expression  of  the  female  faces  of  Correg- 
gio— that  of  the  yearning  human  thoughts  that  lie  too  deep 
for  tears — was  hers  sometimes,  but  seldom  under  ordinary 
conditions. 

Four  hours  after  the  above-named  romantic  concern  for 
a  hero  of  fiction,  Elfride  was  standing,  in  the  character  of 
hostess,  face  to  face  with  a  man  she  had  never  seen  be- 
fore— moreover,  looking  at  him  with  a  Miranda-like  curios- 
ity and  interest  that  she  had  never  yet  bestowed  on  a 
mortal. 

The  meaning  and  reasons  of  the  meeting  will  disclose 
themselves  amid  the  following  details. 

On  this  particular  day  her  father,  the  vicar  of  the  parish, 
and  a  widower,  was  suffering  from  an  attack  of  gout.  After 
finishing  her  book,  Elfride  became  restless,  and  several 
times  left  the  room,  ascended  the  staircase,  and  knocked 
at  her  father's  bed-room  door. 

"  Come  in  !  "  was  always  answered  in  a  hearty  farmer- 
like voice  from  the  inside. 

''  Papa,"  she  said  on  one  occasion  to  the  fine,  red-faced, 
handsome  man  of  forty,  who  puffing  and  fizzling  like  a  burst- 
ing bottle,  lay  on  the  bed  wrapped  in  a  dressing-gown,  and 
every  now  and  then  enunciating,  in  spite  of  himself,  about 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  5 

one  letter  of  some  word  or  words  that  were  almost  oaths  ; 
"  papa  will  you  not  come  down  stairs  this  evening  ? "  She 
spoke  distinctly  :  he  was  rather  deaf. 

"  Afraid  not — eh-h-h  ! — very  much  afraid  I  shall  not, 
Elfride.  Piph-ph-ph !  I  can't  bear  even  a  handkerchief 
upon  this  deuced  toe  of  mine,  much  less  a  stocking  or  slip- 
per— piph-ph-ph  !  There  'tis  again  !  No,  I  sha'n't  get  up 
till  to-morrow." 

"  Then  I  hope  this  London  man  won't  come ;  for  I 
don't  know  what  I  should  do,  papa." 

'*  Well,  it  would  be  awkward,  certainly." 

"  I  should  hardly  think  he  would  come  to-day." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  the  wind  blows  so." 

"Wind!  What  ideas  you  have,  Elfride!  Who  ever 
heard  of  wind  stopping  a  man  from  doing  his  business  ? 
The  idea  of  this  toe  of  mine  coming  on  so  suddenly  1  .  .  . 
If  he  should  come,  you  must  send  him  up  to  me,  I  suppose, 
and  then  give  him  some  supper  and  put  him  to  bed  in  some 
way.     Dear  me,  what  a  nuisance  all  this  is  1  " 

"  Must  he  have  dinner?" 

"  Too  heavy  for  a  tired  man  at  the  end  of  a  tedious 
journey." 

"Tea,  then?"  _ 

"  Not  substantial  enough." 

"  High  tea,  then  ?  There  is  cold  fowl,  rabbit-pie,  some 
pasties,  and  things  of  that  kind." 

"  Yes,  high  tea." 

"  Must  I  pour  out  his  tea,  papa  ? " 

"  Of  course  ;  you  are  the  mistress  of  the  house." 

"What,  sit  there  all  the  time  with  a  stranger, just  as  if 
I  knew  him,  and  not  anybody  to  introduce  us  ? " 

"  Nonsense,  child,  about  introducing  ;  you  know  better 
than  that.  A  practical  professional  man,  tired  and  hungry, 
who  has  been  travelling  ever  since  daylight  this  morning, 
will  hardly  be  inclined  to  talk  and  air  courtesies  to-night. 
He  wants  food  and  shelter,  and  you  must  see  that  he  has  it, 
simply  because  I  am  suddenly  laid-up  and  cannot.  There 
is  nothing  so  dreadful  in  that,  I  hope  ?  You  get  all  kinds 
of  stuff  into  your  head  from  reading  so  many  of  those 
novels." 


6  A  PAIR  CF  BLUE  EYES. 

"  O,  no;  there  is  nothing  dreadful  in  it  when  it  becomes 
plainly  a  case  of  necessity  like  this.  But,  you  see,  you  are 
always  there  when  people  come  to  dinner,  even  if  we  know 
them  ;  and  this  is  some  strange  London  man  of  the  world, 
who  will  think  it  odd,  perhaps." 

"  Very  well  ;  let  him." 

"  Is  he  Mr.  Hewby's  partner  ? " 

"  I  should  scarcely  think  so  :  he  may  be." 

"  How  old  is  he,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  That  I  cannot  tell.  You  will  find  the  copy  of  my 
letter  to  Mr.  Hewby,  and  his  answer,  upon  the  table  in  the 
study.  You  may  read  them,  and  then  you'll  know  as  much 
as  I  do  about  our  visitor." 

"  I  have  read  them." 

"  Well  what 's  the  use  of  asking  questions,  then  ?  They 
contain  all  I  know.  Ugh-h-h !  .  .  .  Od  plague  you,  you 
young  scamp !  don't  put  anything  there !  I  can't  bear  the 
weight  of  a  fly." 

"  O,  I  am  sorry,  papa.  I  forgot ;  I  thought  you  might 
be  cold,"  she  said,  hastily  removing  the  rug  she  had  thrown 
upon  the  feet  of  the  sufferer  ;  and,  waiting  till  she  saw  that 
consciousness  of  her  offence  had  passed  from  his  face,  she 
withdrew  from  the  room,  and  retired  again  down  stairs. 


CHAPTER  II. 
*^ 'twas  on  the  evening  of  a  winter's  day." 

WHEN  two  or  three  additional  hours  had  merged 
afternoon  in  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  some 
moving  outlines  might  have  been  observed  against  the  sky, 
on  the  summit  of  a  wild  lone  hill  in  this  district.  They 
circumscribed  two  men,  having  at  present  the  aspect  of  sil- 
houettes, sitting  in  a  dog-cart  and  pushing  along  in  the 
teeth  of  the  wind.  Scarcely  a  solitary  house  or  man  had 
been  visible  along  the  whole  dreary  distance  of  open  coun- 
try they  were  traversing  ;  and  now  that  night  had  begun  to 
fall,  the  faint  twilight,  which  still  gave  an  idea  of  the  land- 
scape to  their  observation,  was  enlivened  by  the  quiet  ap- 
pearance of  the  planet  Jupiter,  momentarily  gleaming  in  in- 
tenser  brilliancy  in  the  constellation  Gemini,  and  by  Sirius 
shedding  his  rays  in  rivalry  from  his  position  over  their 
shoulders.  The  only  lights  apparent  on  earth  were  some 
spots  of  dull  red,  glowing  here  and  there  upon  the  distant 
hills,  which,  as  the  driver  of  the  vehicle  gratuitously  remark- 
ed to  the  hirer,  were  smouldering  fires  for  the  consumption 
of  peat  and  gorse-roots,  where  the  common  was  being 
broken  up  for  agricultural  purposes.  The  wind  prevailed 
with  but  little  abatement  from  its  daytime  boisterousness, 
three  or  four  small  clouds,  delicate  and  pale,  creeping  along 
under  the  sky  southward  to  the  Channel. 

Twelve  of  the  fourteen  miles  intervening  between  the 
railway  terminus  and  the  end  of  their  journey  had  been 
gone  over,  when  they  began  to  pass  along  the  brink  of  a 
valley  some  miles  in  extent,  wherein  the  wintry  skeletons 
of  a  more  luxuriant  vegetation  than  had  hitherto  surround- 
ed them  proclaimed  an  increased  richness  of  soil,  which 
showed  signs  of  far  more  careful  enclosure  and  management 
than  had  any  slopes  they  had  yet  passed.     A  little  farther, 


S  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

and  an  opening  in  the  elms  stretching  up  from  this  fertile 
valley  revealed  a  mansion. 

"  That's  Endelstovv  House,  Lord  Luxellian's,"  said  the 
driver. 

"Endelstow  House,  Lord  Luxellian's,"  repeated  the 
other  mechanically.  He  then  turned  himself  sideways,  and 
keenly  scrutinized  the  almost  invisible  house  with  an  inter- 
est which  the  indistinct  picture  itself  seemed  far  from  ade- 
quate to  create.  "Yes,  that's  Lord  Luxellian's,"  he  said 
yet  again  after  a  while,  as  he  still  looked  in  the  same 
direction. 

"  What,  be  we  going  there  ?  " 

"  No  ;  Endelstow  Vicarage,  as  I  have  told  you." 

"  I  thought  you  m't  have  altered  your  mind,  sir,  as  ye 
have  stared  that  way  at  nothing  so  long." 

"  O,  no  ;  I  am  interested  in  the  house,  that's  all." 

"  Most  people  be,  as  the  saying  is." 

"  Not  in  the  sense  that  I  am." 

"  O  !  .  .  Well  his  family  is  no  better  than  my  own,  *a 
b'lieve." 

"How  is  that?" 

"  Hedgers  and  ditchers  by  rights.  But  once  in  ancient 
times  one  of  'em,  when  he  was  at  work,  changed  clothes 
with  King  Charles  the  Second,  and  saved  the  king's  life. 
King  Charles  came  up  to  him  like  a  common  man,  and  said 
off-hand,  '  Man  in  the  smock-frock,  my  name  is  Charles 
the  Second,  and  that's  the  truth  on't.  Will  ye  lend  me  your 
clothes  V  'I  don't  mind  if  I  do,'  said  hedger  Luxellian  j 
and  they  changed  there  and  then.  '  Now,  mind  ye,'  King 
Charles  the  Second  said,  like  a  common  man,  as  he  rode 
away,  '  if  ever  I  come  to  the  crown,  you  come  to  court, 
knock  at  the  door,  and  say  out  bold,  '  Is  King  Charles  the 
Second  at  home  ? '  Tell  your  name,  and  they  shall  let  you 
in,  and  you  shall  be  made  a  lord.'  Now,  that  was  very 
nice  of  Master  Charley." 

"  Very  nice,  indeed." 

"  Well,  as  the  saying  is,  the  king  came  to  the  throne ; 
and  some  years  after  that,  away  went  hedger  Luxellian, 
knocked  at  the  king's  door,  and  asked  if  King  Charles  the 
Second  was  in.  'No,  he  isn't,'  they  said.  'Then,  is 
Charles  the  Third  .? '  said    hedger  Luxellian.     '  Yes,'  said 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES.  ^ 

a  young  fellow  standing  by  like  a  common  man,  only  he  had 
a  crown  on,  '  my  name  is  Charles  the  Third.'     And — " 

"  I  really  fancy  that  must  be  a  mistake.  I  don't  recol- 
lect anything  in  history  about  Charles  the  Third,"  said  the 
other,  in  a,  tone  of  mild  remonstrance. 

"  O,  that's  righ::  enough,  as  the  saying  is ;  he  was  a  rather 
queer-tempered  man,  if  you  remember." 

"  Very  well ;  go  on." 

"  And  by  hook  or  by  crook,  hedger  LuxelliaTi  was  made 
a  lord,  and  everything  went  on  well  till  some  time  after, 
when  he  got  into  a  most  terrible  row  with  King  Charles  the 
Fourth—" 

"  Stop  !  I  can't  stand  Charles  the  Fourth.  Upon  my 
word,  that's  too  much." 

"  Why  ?     There  was  a  George  the  Fourth,  wasn't  there  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Well,  Charleses  be  as  common  as  Georges.  'Tis  perfect 
madness  to  break  up  a  man's  story  in  the  way  you  do." 

"There  isn't  a  man  in  England  would  put  up  with  Charles 
the  Fourth,  even  from  the  lips  of  his  dearest  friend.  I  only 
look  Charles  the  Third  out  of  civility  to  you." 

"  Now,  look  here :  take  Charles  the  Third,  and  say  no 
more  about  it,  and  I'll  knock  out  Charles  the  Fourth  alto- 
gether. There,  that's  fair  ....  Ah,  well,  as  the  saying  is. 
'Tis  the  funniest  world  ever  I  lived  in — upon  my  life  'tis. 
Ah,  that  such  should  be  ! " 

The  dusk  had  thickened  into  darkness  while  they  thus 
conversed,  and  the  outline  and  surface  of  the  mansion  grad- 
ually disappeared.  The  windows,  which  had  before  been 
as  black  blots  on  a  lighter  surface  of  wall,  became  illumin- 
ated, and  were  transfigured  into  squares  of  light  on  the  gen- 
eral dark  surface  of  the  night  landscape  as  it  absorbed  the 
outlines  of  the  edifice  into  its  gloomy  monotony. 

Not  another  word  was  spoken  for  some  time,  ar  J  they 
climbed  a  hill,  then  another  hill  piled  on  the  summ  t  of  the 
first.  An  additional  mile  of  plateau,  from  which  could  be 
discerned  two  lighthouses  on  the  coast  they  were  nearing, 
reposing  on  the  horizon  with  a  calm  lustre  of  benignity,  and 
another  oasis  was  reached.  A  little  dell  lay  like  a  nest  at 
their  feet,  towards  which  the  driver  pulled  the  horse  at  a 
sharp  angle,  and  descended  a  steep  slope  which  dived  un- 


jQ  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

der  the  trees  like  a  rabbits'  burrow.  They  sank  lower  and 
lower. 

"  Endelstow  Vicarage  is  inside  here,"  continued  the  man 
with  the  reins.  "  This  part  about  here  is  West  Endelstow  ; 
Lord  Luxellian's  is  East  Endelstow,  and  has  a  church  to  it- 
self. Pa'son  Swancourt  is  the  pa'son  of  both,  and  bobs 
backward  and  forward.  Ah,  well !  'tis  a  funny  world.  'A 
believe  there  was  once  a  quarry  where  this  house  stands. 
The  man  who  built  it  in  past  time  scraped  all  the  glebe  for 
earth  to  put  round  the  vicarage,  and  laid  out  a  little  para- 
dise of  flowers  arid  trees  in  the  soil  he  had  got  together  in 
this  way,  while  the  fields  he  scraped  have  been  good  for 
nothing  ever  since." 

"  How  long  has  the  present  incumbent  been  here  ? " 

"  Maybe  about  a  year,  or  a  year  and  a  half:  'tisn't  two 
years  ;  for  they  don't  scandalize  him  yet ;  and,  as  a  rule,  a 
parish  begins  to  scandalize  the  pa'son  at  the  end  of  two 
years  among  'em  familiar.  But  he's  a  very  nice  party. 
Ay,  pa'son  Swancourt  d'know  me  pretty  well  from  often 
driving  over  ;  and  1  d'know  pa'son  Swancourt." 

They  emerged  from  the  bower,  swept  round  in  a  curve, 
and  the  chimneys  and  gables  of  the  vicarage  became  darkly 
visible.  Not  a  light  showed  anywhere.  They  alighted  ; 
the  man  felt  his  way  into  the  porch,  and  rang  the  bell. 

At  the  end  of  three  or  four  minutes,  spent  in  patient 
waiting  without  hearing  any  sounds  of  a  response,  the 
stranger  advanced  and  repeated  the  call  in  a  more  de- 
cided manner.  He  then  fancied  he  heard  footsteps  in 
the  hall,  and  sundry  movements  of  the  door-knob,  but 
nobody  appeared. 

"Perhaps  they  beant  at  home,"  sighed  the  driver.. 
"  And  I  promised  myself  a  bit  of  supper  in  pa'son  Swan- 
court's  kitchen.  Sich  lovely  mate-pize,  and  figged  keakes. 
and  cider,  and  drops  o'  cordial  that  they  do  keep  here ! " 

"  All  right,  naibours !  Be  ye  rich  men  or  be  ye  poor 
men,  that  ye  nmst  needs  come  to  the  world's  end  at  this 
time  o'  night  ?  "  exclaimed  a  cracked  voice  at  this  instant ; 
and,  turning  their  heads,  they  saw  a  rickety  individual 
shambling  round  from  the  back  door  with  a  horn  lantern 
dangling  from  his  hand. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  I  I 

"Time  o'  night, 'a  brieve!  and  the  clock  only  gone 
seven  of  'em.     Show  a  light,  and  let  us  in,  William  Worm.'' 

"  O,  that  you,  Robert  Lickpan  ? " 

"  Nobody  else,  ^Villiam  Worm." 

"  And  is  the  visiting  man  a-come  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  stranger.    "  Is  Mr.  Swancourt  at  home  ? " 

"That  'a  is,  sir.  And  would  ye  mind  coming  round 
by  ihe  back  way?  The  front  door  is  got  stuck  wi'  the  wet, 
as  he  will  do  sometimes  ;  and  the  Turk  can't  open  en.  I 
know  I  am  only  a  poor  wambling  man  that  'ill  never  pay 
the  Lord  for  my  making,  sir ;  but  I  can  show  the  way  in, 
sir." 

The  new  arrival  followed  his  guide  through  a  little  door 
in  a  wall,  and  then  promenaded  a  scullery  and  a  kitchen, 
along  which  he  passed  with  eyes  rigidly  fixed  in  advance, 
an  inbred  horror  of  prying  forbidding  him  to  gaze  around 
apartments  that  formed  the  back  side  of  the  household 
tapestry.  Entering  the  hall,  he  was  about  to  be  shown  to 
his  room,  when  from  the  inner  lobby  of  the  front  entrance, 
whither  she  had  gone  to  learn  the  cause  of  the  delay,  sailed 
forth  the  form  of  Elfride.  Her  start  of  amazement  at  the 
sight  of  the  visitor  coming  forth  from  under  the  stairs  proved 
that  she  had  not  been  expecting  this  surprising  flank 
movement,  which  had  been  originated  entirely  by  the  in- 
genuity of  William  Worm. 

She  appeared  in  the  prettiest  of  all  feminine  guises,  that 
is  to  say,  in  a  demi-toilette  dress,  with  plenty  of  curly  hair 
tumbling  down  about  her  shoulders.  An  expression  of 
uneasiness  pervaded  her  countenance ;  and  altogether  she 
scarcely  appeared  woman  enough  for  the  situation.  The 
visitor  removed  his  hat,  and  the  first  words  were  spoken ; 
Elfride  meanwhile  looking  with  a  great  deal  of  interest  not 
unmixed  with  awe  at  the  person  towards  whom  she  was  to 
do  the  duties  of  hospitality. 

"I  am  Mr.  Smith,"  said  the  stranger,  in  a  musical 
voice. 

"  I  am  Miss  Swancourt,"  said  Elfride. 

Her  constraint  was  over.  The  great  contrast  between 
the  reality  she  beheld  before  her,  and  the  dark,  taciturn, 
sharp,  elderly  man  of  business  who  had  lurked  in  her  imagi- 
nalion — a  man   with  clothes  smelling  of  city  smoke,  skin 


£2  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

sallow  from  Vv^ant  of  sun,  and  talk  flavored  with  epigram — 
was  such  a  relief  to  her  that  Elfride  smiled,  almost  laughed, 
in  the  new  comer's  face. 

Stephen  Smith,  who  has  hitherto  been  hidden  from  us 
by  the  darkness,  was  at  this  time  of  his  life  but  a  youth  in 
appearance,  and  barely  a  man  in  years.  Judging  from  his 
look,  London  was  the  last  place  in  the  world  that  one 
would  have  imagined  to  be  the  scene  of  his  activities:  such 
a  face  surely  could  not  be  nourished  amid  smoke  and  mud 
and  fog  and  dust ;  such  an  open  countenance  could  never 
even  have  seen  anything  of  "  the  weariness,  the  fever,  and 
the  fret"  of  Babylon  the  second. 

His  complexion  was  as  fine  as  Elfride's  own ;  the  pink 
of  his  cheeks  as  delicate.  His  mouth  as  perfect  as  Cupid's 
bow  in  form,  and  as  cherry-red  in  color  as  hers.  Bright 
curly  hair ;  bright  sparkling  blue-grey  eyes ;  a  boy's  blush 
and  manner;  neither  whisker  nor  moustache,  unless  a 
little  light-brown  fur  on  his  upper  lip  deserved  the  latter 
title :  this  composed  the  London  professional  man,  the 
prospect  of  whose  advent  had  so  troubled  Elfride. 

Elfride  hastened  to  say  she  was  sorry  to  tell  him  that 
Mr.  Swancourt  was  not  able  to  receive  him  that  evening, 
and  gave  the  reason  why.  Mr.  Smith  replied,  in  a  voice 
boyish  by  nature  and  manly  by  art,  that  he  was  very  sorry 
to  hear  this  news ;  but  that  as  far  as  his  reception  was 
concerned,  it  did  not  matter  in  the  least. 

Stephen  was  shown  up  to  his  room.  In  his  absence 
Elfride  stealthily  glided  into  her  father's. 

*'  He's  come,  papa.  Such  a  5'oung  man  for  a  business 
man?'' 

"  O,  indeed  !  " 

"His  face  is — ^q\\— pretty;  just  like  mine." 

*'  H'm  !  what  next  ? " 

"  Nothing ;  that's  all  I  know  of  him  yet.  It  is  rather 
aice,  is  it  not  ?  " 

'•Well,  we  shall  see  that  when  we  know  him  better. 
Go  down  and  give  the  poor  fellow  something  to  eat  and 
drink,  for  heaven's  sake.  And  when  he  has  done  eating, 
say  I  should  like  to  have  a  few  words  with  him,  if  he  doesn't 
mind  coming  up  here." 

The  you  Ag  lady  glided  down  stairs  again,  and  while  she 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  I3 

awaits  young  Smith's  entry,  the  letter  referring  to  his  visit 
had  better  be  given. 

1.  MR.    SWANCOURT  TO   MR.    HEWBY. 

"  Endelstow  Vicarage,  Feb.  18—. 

*<  Sir, — We  are  thinking  of  restoring  the  tower  and  aisle  of  the 
church  in  this  parish  ;  and  Lord  Luxellian,  the  patron  of  the  living 
has  mentioned  your  name  as  that  of  a  trustworthy  architect  whom  it 
would  be  desirable  to  ask  to  superintend  the  work. 

"  I  am  exceedingly  ignorant  of  the  necessary  preliminary  steps. 
Probably,  however,  the  first  is  that  (should  you  be,  as  Lord  Luxellian 
says  you  are,  disposed  to  assist  us)  yourself  or  some  member  of  your 
staff  should  see  the  building,  and  report  thereupon  for  the  satisfaction 
of  parishioners  and  others. 

"  The  spot  is  a  very  remote  one  :  we  have  no  railway  within  four- 
teen miles  ;  and  the  nearest  place  for  putting  up  at — called  a  town, 
though  merely  a  large  village — is  Stranton,  two  miles  farther  on  ;  so 
that  it  would  be  most  convenient  for  you  to  stay  at  the  vicarage — 
which  I  am  glad  to  place  at  your  disposal — instead  of  pushing  on  to 
the  hotel  at  Stranton,  and  coming  back  again  in  the  morning. 

"  Any  day  of  the  next  week  that  you  like  to  name  for  the  visit  will 
find  us  quite  ready  to  receive  you. — Yours  very  truly, 

"  Christopher  Swancourt." 

2.  MR.    HEWBY   TO   MR.    SWANCOURT. 

•'  Percy-place,  Charing-cross, 
"  Feb.  20.  18—. 

"  Rev.  Sir,— Agreeably  to  your  request  of  the  i8th  instant,  I 
have  arranged  to  survey  and  make  drawings  of  the  aisle  and  tower  of 
your  parish  church,  and  of  the  dilapidations  which  have  been  suffered 
to  accrue  thereto,  with  a  view  to  its  restoration. 

**  My  assistant,  Mr.  Stephen  Smith,  will  leave  London  by  the 
early  train  to-morrow  morning  for  the  purpose.  Many  thanks  for  your 
proposal  to  accommodate  him.  He  will  take  advantage  of  your  offer, 
and  will  probably  reach  your  house  at  some  hour  of  the  evening. 
You  may  put  every  confidence  in  him,  and  may  rely  upon  his  discern- 
ment in  the  matter  of  church  architecture. 

"  Trusting  that  the  plans  for  the  restoration  which  I  shall  prepare 
from  the  details  of  his  survey  will  prove  satisfactory  to  yourself  and 
Lord  Luxellian,  I  am,  rev.  sir,  yours  faithfully, 

•  Walter  Hewby.* 


CHAPTER  III. 

"MELODIOUS  BIRDS  SING  MADRIGALS." 

THAT  first  repast  in  Endelstow  Vicarage  was  a  very 
agreeable  one  to  young  Stephen  Smith.  The  table 
was  spread,  as  Elfride  had  suggested  to  her  father,  with  the 
materials  for  the  heterogeneous  meal  called  high  tea — a 
class  of  refection  welcome  to  all  when  away  from  men  and 
towns,  and  particularly  attractive  to  youthful  palates.  The 
table  was  prettiiy  decked  with  winter  flowers  and  leaves, 
amid  which  the  eye  was  greeted  by  chops,  chicken,  pie,  etc., 
and  two  huge  pasties  overhanging  the  sides  of  the  dish  v/ith 
a  cheerful  aspect  of  abundance. 

At  the  end,  towards  the  fireplace,  appeared  the  tea-ser- 
vice, of  old-fashioned  Worcester  porcelain,  and  behind  this 
arose  the  slight  form  of  Elfride,  attempting  to  add  matronly 
dignity  to  the  movement  of  pouring  out  tea,  and  to  have  a 
weighty  and  concerned  look  in  matters  of  marmalade,  hon- 
ey, and  clotted  cream.  Having  made  her  own  meal  before 
he  arrived,  she  found  to  her  embarrassment  that  there  was 
nothing  left  for  her  to  do  but  talk  when  not  assisting  him. 
She  asked  him  if  he  would  excuse  her  finishing  a  letter  she 
had  been  writing  at  a  side-table,  and  after  sitting  down  to  it, 
tingled  with  a  sense  of  being  grossly  rude.  However,  seeing 
that  he  noticed  nothing  personally  wrong  in  her,  and  that 
he  too  was  embarrassed  when  she  attentively  watched  his 
cup  to  refill  it,  she  became  better  at  ease  ;  and  when  fur- 
thermore he  accidentally  kicked  the  leg  of  the  table,  and 
then  nearly  upset  his  teacup,  just  as  schoolboys  did,  she 
felt  herself  mistress  of  the  situation,  and  could  talk  very 
well.  In  a  few  minutes  ingenuousness  and  a  common  term 
of  years  obliterated  all  recollection  that  they  were  strangers 
just  met.  Stephen  began  to  wax  eloquent  on  extremely 
slight  experiences  connected  with  his  professional  pursuits ; 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  15 

and  she,  having  no  experiences  to  fall  back  upon,  recounted 
with  much  animation  stories  that  had  been  related  to  her  by 
her  father,  which  would  have  astonished  him  had  he  heard 
with  what  fidelity  of  action  and  tone  they  were  rendered. 
Upon  the  whole,  a  very  interesting  picture  of  Sweet-and- 
Twenty  was  on  view  that  evening  in  Mr.  Swancourt's  house. 

Ultimately  Stephen  had  to  go  up  stairs  and  talk  loud  to 
the  vicar,  receiving  from  him  between  his  puffs  a  great  many 
apologies  for  calling  him  so  unceremoniously  to  a  stranger's 
bedroom.  "  But,"  continued  Mr.  Swanccurt,  *'  I  felt  that  I 
wanted  to  say  a  few  words  to  you  before  the  morning  on  the 
business  of  your  visit.  One's  patience  gets  exhausted  by 
staying  a  prisoner  in  bed  all  day  through  a  sudden  freak  of 
one's  enemy — new  to  me,  though — for  I  have  known  very 
little  of  gout  as  yet.  However,  he's  gone  to  my  other  toe  in 
a  very  mild  manner,  and  I  expect  he'll  slink  off  altogether 
by  the  morning.  I  hope  you  have  been  well  attended  to 
down  stairs  ? " 

"Perfectly.  And  though  it  is  unfortunate,  and  I  am 
sorry  to  see  you  laid  up,  I  beg  you  will  not  take  the  slight- 
est notice  of  my  being  in  the  house  the  while." 

"  I  will  not.  But  I  shall  be  down  to-morrow.  My 
daughter  is  an  excellent  doctor.  A  dose  or  two  of  her  mild 
mixtures  will  fetch  me  round  quicker  than  all  the  doctors' 
stuff  in  the  world.  Well,  now  about  the  church  business. 
Take  a  seat,  do.  We  can't  afford  to  stand  upon  ceremony 
in  these  parts,  as  you  see,  and  for  this  reason,  that  a  civil- 
ized human  being  seldom  stays  long  with  us  ;  and  so  we 
cannot  waste  time  in  approaching  him,  or  he  will  be  gone 
before  we  have  had  the  pleasure  of  close  acquaintance. 
This  tower  of  ours  is,  as  you  will  notice,  entirely  gone  be- 
yond the  possibility  of  restoration  ;  but  the  church  itself  is 
well  enough.  You  should  see  some  of  the  churches  in  this 
county.     Floors  rotten  :  ivy  lining  the  walls." 

"  Dear  me  !  " 

"  O,  that's  nothing.  The  congregation  of  a  neighbor  of 
mine,  whenever  a  storm  of  rain  comes  on  during  service, 
open  their  umbrellas  and  hold  them  up  till  the  dripping 
ceases  from  the  roof.  Now,  if  you  will  kindly  bring  me 
tliose  papers  and  letters  you  see  lying  on  the  table,  I  will 
show  you  how  far  we  have  got." 


1 6  A   PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

Stephen  crossed  the  room  to  fetch  them,  and  the  vicai 
seemed  to  notice  more  particularly  the  shm  figure  of  his  vis- 
itor. 

"  I  suppose  3'ou  are  quite  competent  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Quite,"  said  the  young  man,  coloring  slightly. 

"  You  are  very  young,  I  fancy — I  should  say  you  are  not 
more  than  nineteen  }  " 

*'  I  am  nearly  twenty-one." 

**  Exactly  half  my  age  ;  I  am  forty-two." 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Mr.  Swancourt,  after  some  conver- 
sation, "  you  said  your  whole  name  was  Stephen  Fitzmau- 
rice,  and  that  your  family  came  originally  from  Caxbury. 
Since  I  have  been  speaking,  it  has  occurred  to  me  that  I 
know  something  of  them.  You  belong  to  a  well-known  an- 
cient county  family — not  ordinary  Smiths  in  the  least." 

'*  I  don't  think  we  have  any  of  their  blood  in  our  veins." 

"  Nonsense  !  you  must.  Hand  me  the  Landed  Ge?itry. 
Now,  let  me  see.  There,  Stephen  Fitzmaurice  Smith — he 
lies  in  St.  Mary's  Church,  doesn't  he  t  Well  out  of  that  fam- 
ily sprang  the  Leaseworthy  Smiths,  and  collaterally  came 
General  Sir  Stephen  Fitzmaurice  Smith  of  Caxbury — " 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  seen  his  monument  there,"  shouted  Ste- 
phen. "  But  there  is  no  connection  between  his  family  and 
mine  :  there  cannot  be." 

"  There  is  none,  possibly,  to  your  knowledge.  But  looli 
at  this,  my  dear  sir,"  said  the  vicar,  striking  his  fist  upon  the 
bedpost  for  emphasis.  "  Here  are  you,  Stephen  Fitzmaurice 
Smith,  living  in  London,  but  born  at  Caxbury.  Here  in  this 
book  is  a  genealogical  tree  ol  the  Stephen  Fitzmaurice 
Smiths  of  Caxbury  Manor.  You  may  be  only  a  family  of 
professional  men  now — I  am  not  inquisitive  :  T  don't  ask 
questions  of  thcyt  kind;  it  is  not  in  me  to  do  so — but  it  is 
plain  as  the  nose  in  your  face  that  there's  your  origin  !  And 
Mr.  Smith,  I  congratulate  you  upon  your  blood;  blue  blood, 
sir  ;  and  upon  my  life,  a  very  desirable  color,  as  the  world 
goes." 

"I  wish  you  could  congratulate  me  upon  some  more 
tangible  quality,"  said  the  younger  man,  sadly  no  less  than 
modestly. 

''  Nonsense  1  that  will  come  with  time.  You  are  young  : 
all  your  life  is  before  you      Now  look — see  how  far  back  in 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  I^ 

the  mists  of  antiquity  my  own  family  of  Swancourt  have  a 
root.  Here,  you  see,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the  page, 
"  is  Geoffrey,  the  one  among  my  ancestors  who  lost  a  ba- 
rony because  he  would  cut  his  joke.  Ah,  it's  the  sort  of  us ! 
But  the  story  is  too  long  to  tell  now.  Ay,  I'm  a  poor  man 
— a  poor  gentleman,  in  fact :  those  I  would  be  friends  with 
won't  be  friends  with  me  ;  those  who  are  willing  to  be  friends 
with  me  I  am  above  being  friends  with.  Beyond  dining 
with  a  neighboring  incumbent  or  two,  and  an  occasional  chat 
— sometimes  dinner — with  Lord  Luxellian,  I  am  in  absolute 
solitude — absolute." 

"  You  have  your  studies,  your  books,  and  your — daugh- 
ter." 

"  O,  yes,  yes ;  and  I  don't  complain  of  poverty.  Canto 
coram  latrone.  Well,  Mr.  Smith,  don't  let  me  detain  you 
any  longer  in  a  sick  room.  Ha !  that  reminds  me  of  a 
story  I  once  heard  in  my  younger  days."  Here  the  vicar 
began  a  series  of  small  private  laughs,  and  Stephen  looked 
inquiry.  "  O,  no,  no  j  it  is  too  bad — too  bad  to  tell  I  "  con- 
tinued Mr.  Swancourt  in  undertones  of  grim  mirth.  "  Well, 
go  down  stairs  ;  my  daughter  must  do  the  best  she  can  with 
you  this  evening.  Ask  her  to  sing  to  you — she  plays  and 
sings  very  nicely.  Good-night ;  1  feel  as  if  1  had  known 
you  for  five  or  six  years.  I'll  ring  for  somebody  to  show 
you  down." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Stephen,  "  I  can  find  the  way ; " 
and  he  went  down  stairs,  thinking  of  the  delightful  freedom 
of  manner  in  the  remoter  counties  in  comparison  with  the 
reserve  of  London. 

;'  I  forgot  to  tell  you  papa  was  rather  deaf,"  said  Elfride 
anxiously,  when  Stephen  entered  the  little  drawing-room. 

"  Never  mind ;  I  know  all  about  it,  and  we  are  great 
friends,"  the  man  of  business  replied  enthusiastically. 
"  And,  Miss  Swancourt,  will  you  kindly  sing  to  me  ? " 

To  Miss  Swancourt  this  request  seemed,  what  in  fact  it 
was,  exceptionally  point-blank ;  though  she  guessed  that 
her  papa  had  some  hand  in  framing  it,  knowing,  rather  to 
her  cost,  of  his  unceremonious  way  of  utilizing  her  for  the 
benefit  of  dull  sojourners.  At  the  same  time,  as  Mr.  Smith's 
manner  was  too  frank  to  provoke  criticism,  and  his  age  too 


1 3  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

little  to  inspire  fear,  she  was  ready — not  to  say  pleased-— 
to  accede.  Selecting  from  the  canterbury  some  old  family 
ditties,  that  in  years  gone  by  had  been  played  and  sung  by 
her  mother,  Elfride  sat  down  to  the  pianoforte,  and  began 
'  'Twas  on  the  evening  of  a  winter's  day,'  in  a  pretty  con- 
tralto voice. 

"  Do  you  like  that  old  thing,  Mr.  Smith  ? "  she  said  at 
the  end. 

*'  Yes,  I  do  much,"  said  Stephen — words  he  would  have 
uttered,  and  sincerely,  to  anything  on  earth,  from  glee  to  re- 
quiem, that  she  might  have  chosen. 

"You  shall  have  a  little  one  by  De  Leyre,  that  was 
given  me  by  a  young  French  lady  who  was  staying  at  En- 
delstow  House : 

"  Je  I'ai  plante,  je  I'ai  vu  naitre, 
Ce  beau  rosier  ou  les  oiseaux,"  etc. ; 

and  then  I  shall  want  to  give  you  my  own  favorite  for  the 
very  last,  Shelley's  '  When  the  lamp  is  shattered,'  as  set  to 
music  by  my  poor  mother.  I  so  much  like  singing  to  any- 
body who  really  cares  to  hear  me." 

Every  woman  who  makes  a  permanent  impression  on  a 
man  is  afterwards  recalled  to  his  mind's  eye  as  she  appear- 
ed in  one  particular  scene,  which  seems  ordained  to  be  her 
special  medium  of  manifestation  throughout  the  pages  of 
his  memory.  As  the  patron  Saint  has  her  attitude  and  ac- 
cessories in  mediaeval  illumination,  so  the  Sweet  Heart  may 
be  said  to  have  hers  upon  the  table  of  her  true  Love's  fan- 
cy, without  which  she  is  rarely  introduced  there  except  by 
effort ;  and  this  though  she  may,  on  farther  acquaintance, 
have  been  observed  in  many  other  phases  which  one  would 
imagine  to  be  far  more  appropriate  to  love's  young  dream. 

Miss  Elfride's  image  chose  the  form  in  which  she  was 
beheld  during  these  minutes  of  singing  for  her  permanent 
attitude  ot  visitation  to  Stephen's  eyes  during  his  sleeping 
and  waking  hours  in  after  days.  The  profile  is  seen  of  a 
young  woman  in  a  pale  grey  silk  dress  with  trimmings  of 
swan's-down,  and  opening  down  to  a  point  in  front  like  a 
waistcoat — presumably  demi-toilette  ;  the  cool  color  con- 
trasting admirably  with  the  warm  bloom  of  her  neck  and 
face.     The  furthermost  candle  on  the  piano  comes  immedi- 


J  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  1 9 

ately  in  a  line  with  her  head,  and  half  invisible  itself,  forms 
the  accidentally  frizzed  hair  into  a  nebulous  haze  of  light, 
surrounding  her  crown  like  an  aureola.  Her  hands  are  in 
their  place  on  the  keys,  her  lips  parted,  and  trilling  forth, 
in  a  tender  dhninuendo^  the  closing  words  of  the  sad  apos- 
trophe : 

"  O  Love,  who  bewailest 

The  frailty  of  all  things  here, 
Why  choose  you  the  frailest 

For  your  cradle,  your  home,  and  your  bier!  ** 

Her  head  is  forward  a  little,  and  her  eyes  directed  keenly 
upward  to  the  top  of  the  page  of  music  confronting  her. 
Then  comes  a  rapid  look  into  Stephen's  face,  and  a  still 
more  rapid  look  back  again  to  her  business,  her  face  having 
dropped  its  sadness,  and  acquired  a  certain  expression  of 
mischievous  archness  the  while;  which  lingered  there  for 
some  time,  but  was  never  developed  into  a  positive  smile' 
of  flirtation. 

Stephen  suddenly  shifted  his  position  from  her  right 
hand  to  her  left,  where  there  was  just  room  enough  for  an 
ottoman  to  stand  between  the  piano  and  the  corner  of  the 
room.  Into  this  nook  he  squeezed  himself,  and  gazed  wist- 
fully up  into  Elfride'3  face.  So  long  and  so  earnestly  gazed 
he,  that  her  cheek  deepened  to  a  more  and  more  crimson 
tint  as  each  Une  was  added  to  her  song.  Concluding,  and 
pausing  motionless  after  the  last  word  for  a  minute  or  two, 
she  ventured  to  look  at  him  again.  His  features  wore  an 
expression  of  unutterable  happiness. 

"  You  don't  hear  many  songs,  do  you,  Mr.  Smith,  to 
take  so  much  notice  of  these  of  mine  ? " 

"  Perhaps  it  was  the  means  and  vehicle  of  the  song  that 
I  was  noticing:    I  mean,  yourself,"  he  answered  gently. 

"Now,  Mr.  Smith!" 

"  It  is  perfectly  true ;  I  don't  hear  much  singing.  You 
mistake  what  I  am,  I  fancy.  Because  I  come  as  a  stranger 
to  a  secluded  spot,  you  think  I  must  needs  come  from  a 
life  of  bustle,  and  know  the  latest  movements  of  the  day. 
But  I  don't.  My  life  is  as  quiet  as  yours,  and  more  soli- 
tary :    solitary  as  death." 

"  The  death  which  comes  from  a  plethora  of  lif?"     Bu 


20  A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES. 

seriously,  I  can  quite  see  that  you  are  not  the  least  what  1 
thought  you  would  be  before  I  saw  you.  You  are  not  crit- 
ical, or  experienced,  or — much  to  mind.  That's  why  I 
don't  mind  singing  airs  to  you  that  I  only  half  know." 
Finding  that  by  this  confession  she  had  vexed  him  in  a  way 
she  did  not  intend  to,  she  added  naively,  "  I  mean,  Mr. 
Smith,  that  you  are  better,  not  worse,  for  being  only  young 
and  not  very  experienced.  You  don't  think  my  life  here 
so  very  tame  and  dull,  1  know." 

"I*do  not,  indeed,"  he  said  with  fervor.  "  It  must  be 
delightfully  poetical  and  sparkling  and  fresh  and — " 

"  There  you  go,  Mr.  Smith !  Well,  men  of  another 
kind,  when  I  can  get  them  to  be  honest  enough  to  own  the 
truth,  think  just  the  reverse ;  that  my  life  must  be  a  dread- 
ful bore  in  its  normal  state,  though  pleasant  for  the  excep- 
tional few  days  they  pass  here." 

"I  could  live  here  always  !  "  he  said,  and  with  such 
tone  and  look  of  unconscious  revelation  that  Elfride  wa% 
startled  to  find  that  her  harmonies  had  fired  a  small  Troy, 
in  the  shape  of  Stephen's  heart.     She  said  quickly : 

"  But  you  can't  live  here  always." 

"O,  no."  And  he  drew  himself  in  with  the  sensitive- 
ness of  a  snail. 

Elfride's  emotions  were  sudden  as  his  in  kindling,  but 
the  least  of  woman's  lesser  infirmities — love  of  admiration 
— caused  an  inflammable  disposition  on  his  part,  so  exactly 
similar  to  her  own,  to  appear  as  meritorious  in  him  as 
modesty  made  her  own  seem  faulty  in  her. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a 
mould'ring  heap." 

FOR  reasons  of  his  own,  Stephen  Smith  was  stirring  a 
short  time  after  dawn  the  next  morning.  From  the 
window  of  his  room  he  could  see,  first,  two  bold  escarpments 
sloping  down  together  like  the  letter  V.  Towards  the 
bottom,  like  liquid  in  a  funnel,  appeared  the  sea,  grey  and 
small.  On  the  brow  of  one  hill,  of  rather  greater  altitude 
than  its  neighbor,  stood  the  church  which  was  to  be  the 
scene  of  his  operations.  The  lonely  edifice  was  black  and 
bare,  cutting  up  into  the  sky  from  the  very  tip  of  the  hill. 
It  had  a  square  mouldering  tower,  owning  neither  battle 
ment  nor  pinnacle,  and  seemed  a  monolithic  termination, 
of  one  substance  with  the  ridge,  rather  than  a  structure 
raised  thereon.  Round  the  church  a  low  wall  ;  over-top- 
ping the  wall,  in  general  level,  was  the  graveyard  ;  not  as 
a  graveyard  usually  is,  a  fragment  of  landscape  with  its  due 
variety  of  chiaro-oscuro,  but  a  mere  profile  against  the  sky, 
serrated  with  the  outlines  of  graves  and  a  very  few  memorial 
stones.  Not  a  tree  could  exist  up  there  ;  nothing  but  the 
monotonous  grey-green  grass. 

Five  minutes  after  this  casual  survey  was  made,  his 
bedroom  was  empty,  and  its  occupant  had  vanished  quietly 
from  the  house. 

At  the  end  of  two  hours  he  was  again  in  the  room, 
looking  warm  and  glowing.  He  now  pursued  the  artistic 
details  of  dressing,  which  on  his  first  rising  had  been 
entirely  omitted.  And  a  very  pretty  fellow  he  looked,  after 
that  mysterious  morning  scamper.  His  mouth  was  a 
triumph  of  the  class.  It  was  the  cleanly-cut,  exquisitely 
pursed-up  mouth  of  William  Pitt,  as  represented  in  the  well 


22  A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES. 

or  little  knov/n  bust  by  Nollekens — a  mouth  which  is  in 
itself  a  young  man's  fortune,  if  properly  exercised.  His 
round  chin,  where  its  upper  part  turned  inward,  still  con- 
tinued its  perfect  and  full  curve,  seeming  to  press  in  to  a 
point  the  bottom  of  his  nether  lip  at  their  place  of  junction. 
Once  he  murmured  the  name  of  Elfride.  Ah,  there 
she  was  !  On  the  lawn  in  a  plain  dress,  without  hat  or 
bonnet,  running  with  a  boy's  velocity,  superadded  to  a 
girl's  lightness,  after  a  tame  rabbit  she  was  endeavoring 
to  capture,  her  strategic  intonations  of  coaxing  words 
alternating  with  desperate  rushes  so  much  out  of  keeping 
with  them,  that  the  hollowness  of  such  expressions  was 
but  too  evident  to  her  pet,  who  darted  and  dodged  in 
carefully-timed  counterpart. 

The  scene  down  there  was  altogether  different  from  that 
of  the  hills.  A  thicket  of  shrubs  and  trees  enclosed  this 
favored  spot  from  the  wildness  without ;  even  at  this  time 
of  the  year  the  grass  was  luxuriant  there.  No  wind  blew 
inside  the  protecting  belt  of  evergreens,  wasting  its  force 
upon  the  higher  and  stronger  trees  forming  the  outer 
margin  of  the  grove. 

Then  he  heard  a  heavy  person  scuffling  about  in  slippers, 
and  calling,  "  Mr.  Smith !  "  Smith  proceeded  to  the  study, 
and  found  Mr.  Swancourt.  The  young  man  expressed  his 
gladness  to  see  his  host  down  stairs. 

"  O,  yes  ;  I  knew  I  should  soon  be  right  again.  I  have 
not  made  the  acquaintance  of  gout  for  more  than  two  years, 
and  it  generally  goes  off  the  second  night.  Well,  where 
have  you  been  this  morning?  I  saw  you  come  in  just  now, 
1  think?" 

*'  Yes ;  I  have  been  for  a  walk." 
^      "Start  early?" 

"Yes." 

"Very  early,  I  think?" 

"  Yes,  it  was  rather  early." 

"Which  way  did  you  go?  To  the  sea,  I  suppose, 
Everybody  goes  sea- ward." 

"  No  ;  I  followed  up  the  river  as  far  as  the  park  wall." 

"  You  are  different  from  your  kind.  Well,  I  suppose 
such  a  wild  place  is  a  noveltv,  and  so  tempted  you  out  of 
bed?" 


A  FAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


23 


"  Not  altogether  a  novelty.     I  like  the  place." 

"You  must,  you  must,  to  go  cock-watching  the  morning 
after  a  journey  of  fourteen  or  sixteen  hours.  But  there's 
no  accounting  for  taste,  and  I  am  glad  to  see  that  yours  is 
no  meaner.  After  breakfast,  but  not  before,  I  shall  be 
good  for  a  ten  miles'  walk,  Master  Smith." 

Certainly  there  seemed  nothing  exaggerated  in  that 
assertion.  Mr.  Swancourt  by  daylight  showed  himself  to 
be  a  man  who,  in  common  with  the  other  two  people  under 
his  roof,  had  really  strong  claims  to  be  considered  hand- 
some,— handsome,  that  is,  in  the  sense  in  which  the  moon 
is  bright;  the  ravines  and  valleys  which, on  a  close  inspec- 
tion, are  seen  to  diversify  its  surface  being  left  out  of  the 
argument.  The  face  of  a  tint  that  was  not  deepened  upon 
his  cheeks  nor  lightened  upon  his  forehead,  but  uniform 
throughout;  the  usual  neutral  salmon-color  of  a  man  who 
feeds  well — not  to  say  too  well — and  does  not  think  hard ; 
every  pore  being  in  visible  working  order.  His  tout  ensem- 
ble was  that  of  a  highly-improved  class  of  farmer,  dressed 
up  in  the  wrong  clothes  ;  that  of  a  firm-standing  perpendic- 
ular man,  whose  fall  would  have  been  backwards  in  direc- 
tion if  he  had  ever  lost  his  balance. 

The  vicar's  background  was  at  present  what  a  vicar's 
background  should  be,  his  study.  Here  the  consistency 
ends.  All  along  the  chimney-piece  were  ranged  bottles  of 
horse,  pig,  and  cow  medicines,  and  against  the  wall  was  a 
high  table,  made  up  of  the  fragments  of  an  old  oak  lych- 
gate.  Upon  this  stood  stuffed  specimens  of  owls,  divers, 
and  gulls,  and  over  them  bunches  of  wheat  and  barley  ears, 
labelled  with  the  date  of  the  year  that  produced  them. 
Some  cases  and  shelves,  more  or  less  laden  with  books,  the 
prominent  titles  of  which  were  Dr.  Brown's  Notes  on  the 
Romans,  Dr.  Smith's  Notes  on  the  Corinthians^  and  Dr. 
Robinson's  Notes  on  the  Galatians^  Ephesians,  and  Fhilippi' 
^;/j-,  just  saved  the  character  of  the  place,  in  spite  of  a  girl's 
dolFs-house  standing  above  them,  a  marine  aquarium  in  the 
window,  and  Elfride's  hat  hanging  on  its  corner. 

"  Business,  business  !  "  said  Mr.  Swancourt  after  break- 
fast. He  began  to  find  it  necessary  to  act  the  part  of  a 
fly-wheel  to  the  somewhat  irregular  forces  of  his  visitor. 
They  prepared  to  go  to  the  church  ;   the  vicar,  on 


24 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


second  thoughts,  mounting  his  coal-black  mare,  to  avoid 
exerting  his  foot  too  much  at  starting.  Stephen  said  he 
should  want  a  man  to  assist  him.  "  Worm !  "  the  vicar 
shouted. 

A  minute  or  two  after  a  voice  was  heard  round  the  cor- 
ner of  the  building  mumbling,  "  Ah,  I  used  to  be  strong 
enough,  but  'tis  altered  now  !  Well,  there,  I'm  as  indepen- 
dent as  one  here  and  there,  even  if  they  do  write  'squire 
after  their  names." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  said  the  vicar,  as  William  Worm 
appeared  ;  when  the  remarks  were  repeated  to  him. 

"  Worm  says  some  very  true  things  sometimes,"  Mr. 
Swancourt  said,  turning  to  Stephen.  "  Now  as  regards 
that  word  *  esquire.'  Why,  Mr.  Smith,  that  word  *  esquire  ' 
is  gone  to  the  dogs, — used  on  the  letters  of  every  jackanapes 
who  has  a  black  coat.     Anything  else,  Worm  ? " 

"  Ay,  the  folk  have  begun  frying  again." 

"Dear  me  !     I'm  sorry  to  hear  that." 

"Yes,"  Worm  said  groaningly  to  Stephen,  "I've  got 
such  a  noise  in  my  head  that  there's  no  living  night  nor  day, 
*Tis  just  for  all  the  world  like  people  frying  fish:  fry, 
fry,  fry,  all  day  long  in  my  poor  head,  till  I  don't  know 
whe'r  I'm  here  or  yonder.  There,  God  A'mighty  will  find 
it  out  sooner  or  later,  I  hope,  and  relieve  me." 

"  Now,  my  deafness,"  said  Mr.  Swancourt  impressively, 
"is  a  dead  silence  ;  but  William  Worm's  is  that  of  people 
frying  fish  in  his  head.     Very  remarkable,  isn't  it?  " 

"  I  can  hear  the  frying-pan  a  fizzing  as  naterel  as  life," 
said  Worm  corroboratively. 

**  Yes,  it  is  remarkable,"  said  Mr.  Smith. 

"  Very  peculiar,  very  peculiar,"  echoed  the  vicar ;  and 
they  all  then  followed  the  path  up  the  hill,  bounded  on  each 
side  by  a  little  stone  wall,  from  which  gleamed  fragments  of 
quartz  and  blood-red  marbles,  apparently  of  inestimable 
value,  in  their  setting  of  brown  alluvium.  Stephen  walked 
with  the  dignity  of  a  man  close  to  the  horse's  head,  Worm 
stumbled  along  a  stone's  throw  in  the  rear,  and  Elfride  was 
nowhere  in  particular,  yet  everywhere  ;  sometimes  in  front, 
sometimes  behind,  sometimes  at  the  sides,  hovering  about 
the  procession  like  a  butterfly ;  not  definitely  engaged  in 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


25 


travelling,  yet  somehow  chiming  in  at  points  with  the  gen- 
eral progress. 

The  vicar  explained  things  as  he  went  on  :  The  fact  is, 
Mr.  Smith,  I  didn't  want  this  bother  of  church  restoration 
at  all,  but  it  was  necessary  to  do  something  in  self-defence, 

on  account  of  those  d dissenters  :  I  use  the  word  in  its 

scriptural  meaning,  of  course,  not  as  an  expletive." 

"  How  very  odd  that  such  should  be  necessary  ! "  said 
Stephen. 

"  Odd  ?  That's  nothing  to  how  it  is  in  the  parish  of 
Twinkley.  Both  the  churchwardens  are — ;  there,  I  won't 
say  what  they  are ;  and  the  clerk  and  the  sexton  as  well." 

"  How  very  strange  !  "  said  Stephen. 

"Strange?  My  dear  sir,  that's  nothing  to  how  it  is  in 
the  parish  of  Sinnerton.  However,  as  to  our  own  parish,  I 
hope  we  shall  make  some  progress  soon." 

"You  must  trust  to  circumstances." 

'  *  Th-ere  are  no  circumstances  to  trust  to.  We  may  as 
well  trust  in  Providence  if  we  trust  at  all.  But,  here  we  are. 
A  wild  place,  isn't  it  ?     But  I  like  it  on  such  days  as  these." 

The  churchyard  was  entered  on  this  side  by  a  stone 
stile,  over  which  having  clambered,  you  remained  still  on 
the  wild  hill,  the  within  not  being  so  divided  from  the  with- 
out as  to  obliterate  the  sense  of  open  freedom.  A  de- 
lightful place  to  be  buried  in,  postulating  that  delight  can 
accompany  a  man  to  his  tomb  under  any  circumstances. 
There  was  nothing  horrible  in  this  churchyard,  in  the  shape 
of  tight  mounds  bonded  with  sticks,  which  shout  imprison- 
ment in  5'our  ears  rather  than  whisper  rest ;  or  trim  garden- 
flowers,  which  only  raise  images  of  people  in  new  black 
crape  and  white  handkerchiefs  coming  to  tend  them  ;  or 
wheel-marks,  which  remind  us  of  hearses  and  mourning 
coaches ;  or  cypress-bushes,  which  make  a  parade  of  sor* 
row  ;  or  coffin-boards  and  bones  lying  behind  trees,  show- 
ing that  we  are  only  lease-holders  of  our  graves.  Noj 
n:}thing  but  long,  wild,  untutored  grass,  diversifying  the 
forms  of  the  mounds  it  covered, — themselves  irregularly- 
shaped,  with  no  eye  to  effect ;  the  impressive  presence  of 
the  old  mountain  that  all  this  was  a  part  of  being  no»vhere 
excluded  by  disguising  art.  Outside  were  similar  slopes 
and  similar  grass ;  and  ihei   the  serene  impassive  sea,  visi- 


26  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EVES. 

ble  to  a  width  of  half  the  horizon,  and  meeting  the  eye  with 
the  effect  of  a  vast  concave,  like  the  interior  of  a  blue  ves- 
sel. Detached  rusty  rocks  stood  upright  near  the  shore,  a 
collar  of  foam  girding  their  bases,  repeating  in  its  whiteness 
the  plumage  of  a  countless  multitude  of  gulls,  restlessly 
hovering  about  their  tops. 

"  Now,  Worm  !  "  said  Mr.  Swancourt  sharply ;  and 
Worm  started  into  an  attitude  of  attention  at  once  to  re- 
ceive orders.  Stephen  and  himself  were  then  left  in  pos- 
session, and  the  work  went  on  till  early  in  the  afternoon, 
when  dinner  was  announced  by  Unity,  of  the  vicarage  kitch- 
en, running  up  the  hill  without  a  bonnet. 

Elfride  did  not  make  her  appearance  inside  the  building 
till  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  came  then  by  special  invitation 
ftom  Stephen  during  dinner.  She  looked  so  intensely  liv- 
ing and  full  of  movement  as  she  came  Into  the  old  silent 
place,  that  young  Smith's  vrorld  began  to  be  lit  by  '  the  pur- 
ple light'  in  all  its  definiteness.  Worm  was  got  rid  of  by 
sending  him  to  measure  the  height  of  the  tower. 

What  could  she  do  but  come  close — so  close  that  a  min 
ute  arc  of  her  skirt  touched  his  foot — and  ask  him  how  he 
was  getting  on  with  hissketclies,  and  set  herself  to  learn  the 
principles  of  practical  mensuration  as  applied  to  irregular 
buildings?  Then  she  must  ascend  the  pulpit  to  re  imagine 
for  the  hundredth  time  how  it  must  seem  to  be  a  preacher. 

Has  the  reader  ever  seen  a  winsome  girl  in  a  pulpit? 
Perhaps  not.  Nor  has  the  writer;  but  he  knows  somebody 
who  has,  and  who  can  never  forget  that  sight. 

Elfride  leant  over  the  side. 

"Don't  you  tell  papa,  will  you,  Mr.  Smith,  if  I  tell  you 
something  ? "  she  said  with  a  sudden  impulse  to  make  a 
confidence. 

"  O,  no,  that  I  won't,"  said  Mr.  Smith,  staring  up. 

**  Well,  I  w-rite  papa's  se.^ons  for  him  very  often,  and 
he  preaches  them  better  than  he  does  his  own  ;  and  then 
afterwards  he  talks  to  people  and  to  me  about  what  he  said 
in  his  sermon  to-day,  and  forcets  that  I  wrote  it  for  him^ 
Isn't  it  absurd  ?  " 

"  How  clever  you  must  be  !  "  said  Stephen.  "  I  couldn't 
write  a  sermon  fcr  the  world." 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  27 

"  O,  it's  easy  enough,"  she  said,  descending  from  the 
pulpit  and  coming  close  to  him  to  explain  more  vividly. 
'You  do  it  like  this.  Did  you  ever  play  a  game  of  forfeits 
called  '  When  is  it?  where  is  it  ?  what  is  it?'" 

"  No,  never." 

"  Ah,  that's  a  pity,  because  writing  a  sermon  is  very 
much  like  playing  that  game.  You  take  the  text.  You 
think  why  is  it  ?  what  is  it  ?  and  so  on.  You  put  that  down 
under  "  Collectively."  Then  you  proceed  to  the  First,  Sec- 
ondly, and  Thirdly.  Papa  won't  have  Fourthlys — says  they 
are  all  my  eye.  Then  you  have  a  final  Collectively,  several 
pages  of  this  being  put  in  great  black  brackets,  writing 
opposite,  "  Leave  this  out  if  the  farmers  are  falling  asleep.''^ 
Then  comes  your  In  Conclusion,  then  A  Few  Words,  And 
I  Have  Done.  Well,  all  this  time  you  have  put  on  the 
back  of  each  page,  Keep  your  voice  down'^ — I  mean,"  she 
added,  correcting  herself,  ''that's  how  I  do  in  papa's  ser- 
mon-book, because  otherwise  he  gets  louder  and  louder,  till 
at  last  he  shouts  like  a  farmer  up  a-field.  O,  papa  is  so 
funny  in  some  things !  " 

Then,  after  this  childish  burst  of  confidence,  she  was 
frightened,  being  v/arned  by  womanly  instinct,  which  for 
the  moment  her  ardor  had  outrun,  that  she  had  been  too 
forward  towards  a  comparative  stranger. 

Elfride  saw  her  father  then,  and  went  away  into  the 
wind,  being  caught  by  a  gust  as  she  ascended  the  church- 
yard slope,  in  which  gust  she  had  the  motions,  without  the 
motives,  of  a  hoiden  ;  the  grace,  without  the  self-conscious- 
ness, of  a  pirouetter.  She  conversed  for  a  minute  or  two 
with  her  father,  and  proceeded  homeward,  Mr.  Swancourt 
coming  on  to  the  church  to  Stephen.  The  wind  had  fresh- 
ened his  warm  complexion  as  it  freshens  the  glow  of  st 
brand.  He  was  in  a  mood  of  jollity,  and  watched  Elfride 
dov/n  the  hill  with  a  smile. 

"  You  little  flyaway !  you  look  wild  enough  now,"  he 
said,  and  turned  to  Stephen.  "  But  she's  not  a  wild  child 
at  all,  Mr.  Smith.  As  steady  as  you ;  and  that  you  are 
steady  I  see  from  your  diligence  here." 

"  I  think  Miss  Swancourt  very  clever,"  Stephen  ob- 
spjved. 

"  Yes,  she  is  ;  certainly  she  is,"  said  papa,  turning  hia 


23  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

\oice  as  much  as  possible  to  the  neutral  tone  of  dismter- 
ested  criticism.  "  Now,  Smith,  I'll  tell  you  something ; 
but  she  mustn't  know  it  for  the  world — not  for  the  world, 
mind,  for  she  insists  upon  keeping  it  a  dead  secret.  Why, 
she  writes  my  sennojis  for  me  often,  and  a  very  good  job  she 
makes  of  them." 

"  She  can  do  anything." 

"  She  can  do  that.  The  little  rascal  has  the  very  trick 
of  the  trade.  But,  mind  you,  Smith,  not  a  word  about  it  to 
her,  not  a  single  word." 

**Not  a  word,"  said  Smith. 

"  Look  there,"  said  Mr.  Swancourt.  "  What  do  you 
think  of  my  roofing  ?  "  He  pointed  with  his  walking-stick 
at  the  chancel  roof. 

"  Did  you  do  that,  sir  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  worked  in  shirt-sleeves  all  the  time  that  was  go- 
ing on.  I  pulled  down  the  old  rafters,  fixed  the  new  ones, 
put  on  the  battens,  slated  the  roof,  all  with  my  own  hands, 
Worm  being  my  assistant.  We  worked  like  slaves,  didn't 
we.  Worm  ? " 

"  Ay,  sure,  we  did  ;  harder  than  some  here  and  there — 
hee,  hee !  "  said  William  Worm,  cropping  up  from  some- 
where. " Like  slaves, 'a  b'lieve — hee,  hee?  And  weren't 
ye  foaming  mad,  sir,  when  the  nails  wouldn't  go  straight ! 
Mighty  I!  There,  'tisn't  so  bad  to  cuss  and  keep  it  in,  as  it 
is  to  cuss  and  let  it  out,  is  it,  sir  ? " 

"  Well— why  ? " 

"  Because  you,  sir,  when  ye  were  a-putting  on  the  roof, 
only  used  to  cuss  in  your  mind,  which  is,  I  suppose,  no 
harm  at  all." 

"I  don't  think  you  know  what  goes  on  in  rpy  mind. 
Worm." 

"  O,  doan't  I,  sir — hee-hee  !  Maybe  I'm  but  a  poor 
wambling  thing,  sir,  and  can't  read  much ;  but  I  can  spell 
as  well  as  some  here  and  there.  Doan't  ye  mird,  sir,  that 
blusterous  night  when  ye  asked  me  to  hold  the  candle  to 
ye  in  yon  workshop,  when  you  were  making  a  new  qV  jSx  for 
the  chancel  ?  " 

"Yes;  what  of  that?" 

"I  stood  with  the  candle,  and  you  said  you  liked  com- 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  29 

pan}^  if  'twas  only  a  dog  or  cat — maning  me  ;  and  the 
chair  wouldn't  do  nohow." 

*' Ah,  I  remember." 

"  No  ;  the  chair  vv'ouldn't  do  nohow.  'A  was  very  well 
to  look  at ;  but,  Lord  ! — " 

*'  Worm,  how  often  have  I  corrected  you  for  irreverent 
speaking  ? " 

"  — 'A  v/as  very  well  to  look  at,  but  you  couldn't  sit  in 
the  chair  nohow.  'Twas'all  a-twist  wi'  the  chair,  like  the 
letter  Z,  directly  you  sat  down  upon  the  chair.  *  Get  up, 
Worm,'  says  you,  when  you  seed  the  chair  go  all  a-sway 
wi'  me.  Up  you  took  the  chair,  and  flung  en  like  fire  and 
brimstone  to  t'other  end  of  your  shop — all  in  a  passion. 
*  Dame  the  chair  ! '  says  I.  '  Just  what  I  was  thinking,' 
says  you,  sir.  '  I  could  see  it  in  your  face,  sir,'  says  I, 
'  and  I  hope  you  and  the  Lord  will  forgie  me  for  saying 
what  you  wouldn't.'  To  save  your  life  you  couldn't  help 
laughing,  sir,  at  a  poor  wambler  reading  your  thoughts  so 
plain.     Ay,  I'm  as  wise  as  one  here  and  there." 

"  I  thought  you  had  better  have  a  practical  man  to  go 
over  the  church  and  tower  with  you,"  Mr.  Swancourt  said 
to  Stephen  the  following  morning,  '*so  I  got  Lord  Luxel- 
lian's  permission  to  send  for  a  man  when  you  came.  I 
told  him  to  be  there  at  ten  o'clock.  He's  a  very  intelligent 
man,  and  he  will  tell  you  all  you  want  to  know  about  the 
state  of  the  walls,  etc." 

Elfride  did  not  like  to  be  seen  again  at  the  church  with 
Stephen.  "  I  will  watch  for  your  appearance  at  the  top  of 
the  tower,"  she  said  laughingly.  "  I  shall  see  your  rigure 
against  the  sky." 

''  And  when  I  am  up  there  I'll  wave  my  handkerchief 
to  you,  Miss  Swancourt,"  said  Stephen,  showing  the  pleas- 
ure he  felt.  "  In  twelve  minutes  from  this  present  moment," 
he  said,  looking  at  his  watch,  "  I'll  be  at  the  summit  and 
look  out  for  you." 

She  went  round  to  the  corner  of  the  shrubbery,  whence 
she  could  watch  him  down  the  slope  leading  to  the  foot  of 
the  hill  on  which  the  church  stood.  There  she  saw  waiting 
for  him  a  white  spot — a  mason  in  his  working  clothes. 
Stephen  met  this  man  and  stopped. 


30  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

To  her  surprise,  instead  of  their  moving  on  the  church- 
yard, they  both  leisurely  sat  down  upon  a  stone  close  by 
their  meeting-place,  and  remained  as  if  in  deep  conversa- 
tion. Elfride  looked  at  the  time  ;  nine  of  the  twelve  min- 
utes had  passed,  and  Stephen  showed  no  signs  of  moving. 
More  minutes  passed — she  grew  cold  with  waiting,  and  shiv« 
ered.  It  was  not  till  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  that 
they  began  to  slowly  wend  up  the  hill  at  a  snail's  pace. 

"  Rude  and  unmannerly  !  "  she  said  to  herself,  coloring 
with  pique.  "  Anybody  would  think  he  was  in  love  with 
that  horrid  mason  instead  of  with — "  The  sentence  re- 
mained unspoken,  though  not  unthought. 

She  returned  to  the  porch. 

"  Is  the  man  you  sent  for  a  lazy,  sit-still,  do-nothing 
kind  of  man  .?  "  she  inquired  of  her  father. 

"No,"  he  said,  surprised ;  "quite  the  reverse.  He  is 
Lord  Luxellian's  master-mason,  John  Smith." 

"  O,"  said  Elfride  indifferently,  and  returned  towards 
her  bleak  station,  and  waited,  and  shivered  again.  It  was 
a  trifle,  after  all — a  childish  thing — looking  out  from  a 
tower  and  waving  a  handkerchief.  But  her  new  friend  had 
promised,  and  why  should  he  tease  her  so  ?  The  effect  of 
a  blow  is  as  much  in  proportion  to  the  texture  of  the  object 
struck  as  to  the  blow's  momentum  ;  and  she  had  such  a  su- 
perlative capacity  for  being  wounded  that  little  hits  struck 
her  hard. 

It  was  not  till  the  end  of  half  an  hour  that  two  figures 
were  seen  within  the  parapet  of  the  dreary  old  pile,  motion- 
less as  bitterns  on  a  ruined  mosque.  Even  then  he  was 
not  true  enough  to  perform  what  he  was  so  courteous  to 
promise,  and  he  vanished  without  making  a  sign. 

He  returned  at  midday.  Elfride  looked  vexed  when 
unconscious  that  his  eyes  were  upon  her  ;  when  conscious, 
severe.  However,  her  attitude  of  coldness  had  long  out- 
lived the  coldness  itself,  and  she  could  no  longer  utter 
feigned  words  of  indifference. 

"  Ah,  you  weren't  kind  to  keep  me  waiting  in  the  cold^ 
and  break  your  promise,"  she  said  at  last  reproachfully,  in 
tones  too  low  for  her  father's  powers  of  hearing. 

"Forgive,    forgive   mel"   said   Stephen,   with   dismay 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


31 


"  I  had  forgotten — quite  forgotten  !  Something  prevented 
my  remembering." 

"  Any  farther  explanation  ? "  said  Miss  Capricious, 
pouting. 

He  'vas  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  and  looked  askance. 

'*  >'  'ae,"  he  said,  with  the  accent  of  one  who  concealed 


CHAPTER  V. 
"bosom'd  high  in  tufted  trees." 

IT  was  breakfast  time. 
As  seen  from  the  vicarage  dining-room,  which  took 
a  warm  tone  of  light  from  the  fire,  the  weather  and  scene 
outside  seemed  to  have  stereotyped  itself  in  unrelieved 
shades  of  grey.  The  long-armed  trees  and  shrubs  of  juniper, 
cedar,  and  pine  varieties  were  greyish-black  ;  those  of  the 
broad-leaved  sort,  together  with  the  herbage,  were  greyish- 
green  ;  the  eternal  hills  and  tower  behind  them  were  grey- 
ish-brown ;  the  sky  dropping  behind  all,  grey  of  the  purest 
melancholy. 

Yet  in  spite  of  this  sombre  artistic  effect,  the  morning 
was  not  one  which  tended  to  lower  the  spirits.  It  was  even 
cheering.  For  it  did  not  rain,  nor  was  rain  likely  to  fall  for 
many  days  to  come. 

When  in  an  English  country  house,  our  different  frac- 
tions of  consciousness  are  reduced  to  their  lowest  terms, 
rain  or  no  rain  is  after  all  found  to  be  the  J>rimupi  7nobile 
of  mood,  apart  from  great  afflictions;  and  mental  conclu- 
sions affecting  our  humors  at  such  times,  which  seem  drav/n 
from  independent  incidents,  are  really  but  extreme  corol- 
laries of  one  of  those  atmospheric  conditions. 

Elfride  had  turned  from  the  table  towards  the  fire,  and 
was  idly  elevating  a  hand-screen  before  her  face,  when  she 
heard  the  click  of  a  little  gate  outside. 

"  Ah,  here's  the  postman  ! "  she  said,  as  a  shuffling 
active  man  came  through  an  opening  in  the  shrubbery  and 
across  the  lawn.  She  vanished,  and  met  him  in  the  porch, 
afterwards  coming  in  with  her  hands  behind  her  back. 

"  How  many  are  there.''  Three  for  papa,  one  for  Mr. 
Smith,  none  for  Miss  Swanccurt.     And,  papi,  look  heiCi 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  33 

one  of  yours  is  from — who  do  you  think  r — Lord  Luxellian. 
And  it  has  something  hard  in  it — a  lump  of  something. 
I've  been  feeling  it  through  the  envelope,  and  can't  think 
what  it  is." 

"  What  does  Lord  Luxellian  write  for,  I  wonder  ?  "  Mr. 
Swancourt  had  said  simultaneously  with  her  words.  He 
handed  Stephen  his  letter,  and  took  his  own,  putting  on  his 
countenance  a  higher  class  of  look  than  was  customary,  as 
became  a  poor  gentleman  w^ho  was  going  to  read  a  letter 
from  a  lord. 

Stephen  read  his  missive  with  a  countenance  quite  the 
reverse  of  the  vicar's. 

"  Percy-place,  Thursday  Evening. 
"  Dear  Smith, — Old  H.  is  in  a  towering  rage  wiih  you  for  being 
so  long  about  the  church  sketches.  Swears  you  are  more  trouble  than 
you  are  worth.  He  says  I  am  to  write  and  say  you  are  to  stay  no 
longer  on  any  consideration — that  he  would  have  done  it  all  in  three 
hours  very  easily.  I  told  him  that  you  were  not  like  an  experienced 
hand,  which  he  seemed  to  forget,  but  it  did  not  make  much  diffei-ence. 
However,  between  you  and  me  privately,  if  I  were  you  I  would  not 
alarm  myself  for  a  day  or  so,  if  I  were  not  inclined  to  return.  I 
would  make  out  the  week  and  finish  my  spree.  He  will  bk)W  up  just 
fts  much  if  you  appear  here  on  Friday  as  if  you  keep  away  till  Monday 
morning. — ^Yours  very  truly, 

"SiMPKiNS  Jenkins.' 

"Dear  me — very  awkward!"  said  Stephen,  rather  en 
Fair,  and  confused  with  the  kind  of  confusion  that  assails  an 
under-strapper  when  he  has  been  enlarged  by  accident  to 
the  dimensions  of  a  superior,  and  is  somewhat  rudely  pared 
down  to  his  original  size. 

"  What  is  awkward  ?  "  said  Miss  Swancourt. 

Smith  by  this  time  recovered  his  equanimity,  and  with 
it  the  professional  dignity  of  an  experienced  architect. 

"  Important  business  demands  my  immediate  presence 
in  London,  I  regret  to  say,"  he  replied. 

"  What !  Must  you  go  at  once  ? "  said  Mr.  Swancourt, 
looking  over  the  edge  of  his  letter.  *'  Important  business? 
A  young  fellow  like  you  to  have  important  business  !  " 

"The  truth  is,"  said  Stephen,  blushing,  and  rather 
ashamed  of  having  pretended  even  so  slightly  to  an  impor- 
tance which  did  not  rightly  belong  to  him, — "  the  truth  is, 


34  ^  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

Mr.  Hewby  has  sent  to  say  I  am  to  come  home  j  and  I 
must  obey  him." 

"  I  see ;  I  see.  It  is  politic  to  do  so,  you  mean.  Now 
I  can  see  more  than  you  think.  You  are  to  be  his  partner. 
I  booked  you  for  that  directly  I  read  his  letter  to  me  the 
other  day,  the  way  h'*,  spoke  of  you.  He  thinks  a  great  deal 
of  you,  Mr.  Smith,  or  he  wouldn't  be  so  anxious  for  your 
return." 

Unpleasant  to  Stephen  such  remarks  as  these  could  not 
be ;  to  have  the  expectancy  of  partnership  with  one  of  the 
largest-practicing  architects  in  London  thrust  upon  him  was 
cheering,  however  untenable  he  felt  the  idea  to  be.  He 
saw  that,  whatever  Mr.  Hewby  might  think,  Mr.  Swancouri 
certainly  thought  much  of  him  to  entertain  such  an  idea  on 
such  slender  ground  as  to  be  absolutely  no  ground  at  all. 
And  then,  unaccountably,  his  speaking  face  exhibited  a 
cloud  of  sadness,  that  thought  of  the  ordinary  remoteness 
of  any  such  contingency  could  hardly  have  sufficed  to  cause. 

Elfride  was  struck  with  that  look  of  his  ;  even  Mr. 
Svvancourt  noticed  it. 

"Well,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "never  mind  that  now.  You 
must  come  again  on  your  own  account ;  not  on  business. 
Come  to  see  me  as  a  visitor,  you  know — say  in  your  holi- 
days— all  you  town  men  have  holidays  like  schoolboys. 
When  are  they  ?  " 

"  In  August,  I  believe." 

"  Very  well ;  come  in  August ;  and  then  you  need  not 
hurry  away  so.  I  am  glad  to  get  somebody  decent  to  talk 
to,  or  at,  in  this  outlandish  ultima  thuk.  But,  by-the-by,  I 
have  something  to  say — ^you  won't  go  to  day  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  need  not,"  said  Stephen  hesitatingly.  "  I  am 
not  obliged  to  go  till  Saturday." 

"Very  well,  then,  that  brings  me  to  what  I  am  going  to 
propose.  This  is  a  letter  from  Lord  Luxellian.  I  think 
you  heard  me  speak  of  him  as  the  resident  landowner  in 
this  district,  and  patron  of  this  Hving  ? " 

"  I — know  of  him." 

"  He  is  in  London  now.  It  seems  that  he  has  run  up 
on  business  for  a  day  or  two,  and  taken  Lady  Luxellian 
with  hira.     He  has  written  to  ask  me  to  go  to  his  house, 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  ^r 

and  search  for  a  paper  among  his  private  memoranda, 
which  he  forgot  to  take  with  him." 

"  What  did  he  send  in  the  letter  ?  "  inquires  Elfride. 

"  The  key  of  a  private  desk  in  which  the  papers  are.  He 
doesn't  like  to  trust  such  a  matter  to  anybody  else.  I  have 
(lone  such  things  for  him  before.  And  what  I  propose  is, 
that  we  make  an  afternoon  of  it — all  three  of  us.  Go  for  a 
drive  to  Targan  Bay,  come  home  by  way  of  Endelstow 
House;  and  while  I  am  looking  over  the  documents  you 
can  ramble  about  the  rooms  where  you  like.  I  have  the 
run  of  the  house  at  any  time,  you  know.  The  building, 
though  nothing  but  a  mass  of  gables  outside,  has  a  splendid 
hall,  staircase,  and  gallery  within  j  and  there  are  a  few 
good  pictures." 

"Yes,"  said  Stephen. 

*'  Have  you  seen  it,  then  ? " 

"  I  saw  it  as  I  came,  by,"  he  said  hastily. 

"  O,  yes  ;  but  I  was  alluding  to  the  interior.  And  the 
church — St.  Eval's — is  much  older  than  our  St.  Agnes's 
here.  I  do  duty  in  that  and  this  alternately,  you  know. 
The  fact  is,  I  ought  to  have  some  help  ;  riding  across  that 
park  for  two  miles  on  a  wet  morning  is  not  at  all  the  thing. 
If  my  constitution  were  not  well  seasoned,  as  thank  God  it 
is," — here  Mr.  Swancourt  looked  down  his  front,  as  if  his 
constitution  were  visible  there, — "  I  should  be  coughing 
and  barking  all  the  year  round.  And  when  the  familv  goes 
away,  there  are  only  about  three  servants  to  preach  to  when  I 
get  there.  Well,  that  shall  be  the  arrangement,  then.  El- 
fride,  you  will  like  to  go  .^  " 

Elfride  assented ;  and  the  little  breakfast-party  separa- 
ted. Stephen  rose  to  go  and  take  a  few  final  measurements 
at  the  church,  the  vicar  following  him  to  the  door  with  a 
mysterious  expression  of  inquiry  on  his  face. 

"  You'll  put  up  wdth  our  not  having  family  prayer  this 
morning,  I  hope,"  he  whispered. 

"  Yes  ;  quite  so,"  said  Stephen. 

*'  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  continued  in  the  same  un- 
dertone, *'  we  don't  make  a  regular  thing  of  it ;  but  when 
we  have  strangers  visiting  us,  I  am  strongly  of  opinion  that 
it  is  the  proper  thing  to  do,  and  I  always  do  it.  I  am  very 
strict  on  that  point.    But  you,  Smith,  there  is  something  in 


36  A  PAIR  OF  BL UE  EYES. 

your  face  which  makes  me  feel  quite  at  home ;  no  non* 
sense  about  you,  in  short.  Ah,  it  reminds  me  of  a  splen- 
did story  I  used  to  hear  when  I  was  a  helter-skelter  young 
fellow — such  a  story  !  But', — here  the  vicar  shook  his  head 
self-forbiddingly,  and  grimly  laughed. 

"  Was  it  a  good  story.?  "  said  young  Smith,  smiling  too. 

"  O,  yes  ;  but  'tis  too  bad— too  bad  !  Could'nt  tell  it 
to  you  for  the  world  !  " 

Stephen  went  across  the  lawn,  hearing  the  vicar  chuck 
ling  privately  at  the  recollection  as  he  withdrew. 

They  started  at  three  o'clock.  7'he  grey  morning  had 
resolved  itself  into  an  afternoon  bright  with  a  pale 
pervasive  sunlight,  without  the  sun  itself  being  visible. 
Lightly  they  trotted  along — the  wheels  nearly  silent,  the 
horse's  hoofs  clapping,  almost  ringing,  upon  the  hard  white 
turnpike  road  as  it  followed  the  \&v&\  ridge  in  a  perfectly 
straight  line,  seeming  to  be  absorbed  ultimately  by  the 
white  of  the  sky. 

Targan  Bay — which  had  the  merit  of  being  easily  got 
at — was  duly  visited.  They  then  swept  round  by  innumer- 
able lanes,  in  which  not  twenty  consecutive  yards  were 
either  straight  or  level,  to  the  domain  of  Lord  Luxellian. 
A  woman  with  a  double  chin  and  thick  neck,  like  Queen 
Anne  by  Dahl,  threw  open  the  lodge  gate,  a  little  boy  stand- 
ing behind  her. 

"  I'll  give  him  something,  poor  little  fellow,"  said  El- 
fride,  pulling  out  her  purse  and  hastily  opening  it.  From 
the  interior  of  her  purse  a  host  of  bits  of  paper,  like  a  flock 
of  white  birds,  floated  into  the  air,  and  were  blown  about 
in  all  directions. 

"  Well,  to  be  sure ! "  said  Stephen,  with  a  slight  laugh. 

"What  the  dickens  is  all  that.?"  said  Mr.  Svvancourt 
'•  Never  halves  of  bank-notes,  Elfride  ?  " 

Elfride  looked  annoyed  and  guilty.  *'They  are  only 
something  of  mine,  papa,"  she  faltered,  while  Stephen  leaped 
out,  and  assisted  by  the  lodge-keeper's  little  boy,  crept 
about  round  the  wheels  and  horse's  hoofs  till  the  pa- 
pers were  all  gathered  together  again.  He  handed  them 
back  to  her,  and  re-mounted. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  wondering  what  those  scraps  were  ?  " 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES,  37 

she  said,  as  they  bowled  along  up  the  sycamore  avenue. 
"  And  so  I  may  as  well  tell  you.  They  are  notes  for  a  ro- 
mance I  am  writing." 

She  could  not  help  coloring  at  the  confession,  much  as 
she  tried  to  avoid  it. 

*'  A  story,  do  you  mean  ? "  said  Stephen,  Mr.  Swancourt 
half  listening,  and  catching  a  word  of  the  conversation  now 
and  then. 

"  Yes  ;  the  Court  of  Kelly  on  Castle;  a  romance  of  the 
fifteenth  century.  Such  writing  is  out  of  date  now,  I  know  \ 
but  I  like  doing  it." 

"  A  romance  carried  in  a  purse  !  If  a  highwayman  were 
to  rob  you,  he  would  be  taken  in." 

''  Yes  ;  that's  my  way  of  carrying  manuscript.  The  rea- 
son is,  that  I  mostly  write  bits  of  it  on  scraps  of  paper  vvhen 
I  am  on  horseback  ;  and  I  put  them  there  for  convenience. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  your  romance  when 
you  have  written  it.?"  said  Stephen. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  replied,  and  turned  her  head  to 
look  at  the  prospect. 

For  by  this  time  they  had  reached  the  precincts  of  En- 
delstow  House.  Driving  through  an  ancient  gateway  of 
dun-colored  stone,  spanned  by  the  high-shouldered  Tudor 
arch,  they  found  themselves  in  a  spacious  court,  closed  by 
a  fagade  on  each  of  its  three  sides.  The  substantial  por- 
tions of  the  existing  building  dated  from  the  reign  of  Hen- 
ry Vin. ;  but  the  picturesque  and  sheltered  spot  had 
been  the  site  of  an  erection  of  a  much  earlier  date.  A  li- 
cence to  crenellate  mansum  infr-a  majierium  suiim  was 
granted  by  Edvvard  H.  to  "  Hugo  Luxellen,  chivaler  ;"  but 
though  the  faint  outline  of  the  ditch  and  mound  was  visible 
at  points,  no  sign  of  the  original  buildings  remained. 

The  windows  on  all  sides  were  long  and  many-mullion- 
ed  ;  the  roof  lines  broken  up  by  dormer  lights  of  the  same 
pattern.  The  apex  stones  of  these  dormers,  together  with 
those  of  the  gables,  were  surmounted  by  grotesque  figures 
in  rampant,  passant,  and  couch  ant  variety.  Tall  octagonal 
and  twisted  chimneys  thrust  themselves  high  up  into  the 
sky,  surpassed  in  height,  however,  by  some  poplars  and 
sycamores  at  the  back,  which  showed  their  gently  rocking 
summits  over  ridge  and  parapet.     In  the  corners  of  the 


38 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


court,  polygonal  bays,  whose  surfaces  were  entirely  occa- 
pied  by  buttresses  and  windows,  broke  into  the  squareness 
of  the  enclosure  ;  and  a  far-projecting  oriel,  springing  from 
a  fantastic  series  of  mouldings,  overhung  the  archway  of  the 
chief  entrance  to  the  house. 

As  Mr.  Swancourt  had  remarked,  he  had  the  freedom 
of  the  mansion  in  the  absence  of  its  owner.  Upon  a  state- 
ment of  his  errand,  they  were  all  admitted  to  the  library 
and  left  entirely  to  themselves.  Mr.  Swancourt  was  soon 
up  to  his  eyes  in  the  examination  of  a  heap  of  papers  he 
had  taken  from  the  cabinet  described  by  his  correspondent. 
Stephen  and  Elfride  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  wander 
about  till  her  father  was  ready. 

Elfride  entered  the  gallery,  and  Stephen  followed  her 
without  seeming  to.  It  was  a  long,  sombre  apartment, 
enriched  with  fittings  a  century  or  so  later  in  style  than  the 
walls  of  the  mansion.  Pilasters  of  Renaissance  workman- 
ship supported  a  cornice  from  which  sprang  a  curved  ceil- 
ing, panelled  in  the  awkward  twists  and  curls  of  the  period. 
The  old  Gothic  quarries  still  remained  in  the  upper  por- 
tion of  the  large  window  at  the  end,  though  they  had  made 
way  for  a  more  modern  form  of  glazing  elsewhere. 

Stephen  was  at  one  end  of  the  gallery  looking  towards 
Elfride,  who  stood  in  the  midst,  beginning  to  feel  some- 
what depressed  by  the  society  of  Luxellian  shades  of  cada- 
verous complexion  transfixed  by  Holbein,  Kneller,  and  Lely, 
and  seeming  to  gaze  at  and  through  her  in  a  moralizing 
mood.  The  silence,  which  was  almost  a  spell  upon  them, 
was  broken  by  the  sudden  opening  of  a  door  at  the  far  end. 

Out  bounded  a  pair  of  little  girls,  lightly  yet  warmly 
dressed.  Their  ^yes  were  sparkling ;  their  hair  swinging 
about  and  around ;  their  red  mouths  laughing  with  unal- 
loyed gladness. 

"  Ah,  Miss  Swancourt !  dearest  Elfie  !  we  heard  you. 
Are  you  going  to  stay  here  ?  You  are  our  little  mamma, 
are  you  not — our  big  mamma  is  gone  to  London,"  said  one. 

"Let  me  tiss  you,"  said  the  other,  in  appearance  very 
much  like  the  first,  but  to  a  smaller  pattern. 

Their  pink  cheeks  and  yellow  bair  were  speedily  inter- 
mingled with  the  folds  of  Elfride's  dre^F ;,  sdt  ctiejn  stoocx^d 
and  tenderly  embraced  them  bolk 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  ^g 

"Such  an  odd  thing,"  said  Elfride,  smiling,  and  turning 
to  Stephen.  "  They  have  taken  it  into  their  heads  lately  to 
call  me  '  little  mamma,'  because  1  am  very  fond  of  them, 
and  wore  a  dress  the  other  day  something  like  one  of  Lady 
Luxellian's." 

These  two  young  creatures  were  the  Honorable  Mary 
and  the  Honorable  Kate — scarcely  appearing  large  enough 
as  yet  to  bear  the  weight  of  such  ponderous  prefixes.  They 
were  the  only  two  children  of  Lord  and  Lady  Luxellian, 
and,  as  it  proved,  had  been  left  at  home  during  their  pa- 
rents' temporary  absence,  in  the  custody  of  nurse  and 
governess.  Lord  Luxellian  was  doatingly  fond  of  the  chil- 
dren :  rather  indifferent  towards  his  wife,  since  she  had 
begun  to  show  an  inclination  not  to  please  him  by  giving 
him  a  boy. 

All  children  instinctively  ran  after  Elfride,  looking 
upon  her  more  as  an  unusually  nice  large  specimen  of  their 
own  tribe  than  as  a  grown-up  elder.  It  had  now  become 
an  established  rule,  that  whenever  she  met  them — indoors 
or  out-of-doors,  weekdays  or  Sundays — they  were  to  be 
severally  pressed  against  her  face  and  bosom  for  the  space 
of  a  quarter  of  a  minute,  and  otherwise  made  much  of  on 
the  delightful  system  of  cumulative  epithet  and  caress  to 
which  unpracticed  girls  will  occasionally  abandon  them- 
selves. 

A  look  of  misgiving  by  the  youngsters  towards  the  dooi 
by  which  they  had  entered,  directed  attention  to  a  maid 
servant,  appearing  from  the  same  quarter  to  put  an  end  to 
this  sweet  freedom  of  the  poor  Honorables  Mary  and  Kate. 

"  I  wish  you  lived  here,  Miss  Swancourt !  "  piped  one, 
like  a  melancholy  bullfinch. 

"  So  do  I,"  piped  the  other,  like  a  rather  more  melan- 
choly bullfinch.  "  Mamma  can't  play  with  us  so  nicely  as 
you  do.  I  don't  think  she  ever  learnt  playing  when  she 
was  little.     When  shall  we  come  to  see  you?" 

*' As  soon  as  you  like,  dears." 

"And  sleep  at  your  house  all  night?  That's  what  I 
mean  by  coming  to  see  you.  I  don't  care  to  see  people 
with  hats  and  bonnets  on,  and  standing  up  and  walking 
about" 


40 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 


*' As  soon  as  we  can  get  mamma's  permission  you  shall 
come  and  stay  as  long  as  ever  you  like.     Good-bye  ! " 

The  prisoners  were  then  led  off,  Elfride  again  turning 
her  attention  to  her  guest,  whom  she  had  left  standing  at 
the  remote  end  of  the  gallery.  On  looking  around  for  him 
he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Elfride  stepped  down  to  the 
library,  thinking  he  might  have  rejoined  her  father  there. 
But  Mr.  Swancourt,  now  cheerfully  illuminated  by  a  pair 
of  candles,  was  still  alone,  untying  packets  of  letters  and 
papers,  and  tying  them  up  again. 

As  Elfride  did  not  stand  on  a  sufficiently  intimate  foot- 
ing with  the  object  of  her  interest  to  justify  her,  as  a  proper 
young  lady,  to  commence  the  active  search  for  him  that 
youthful  impulsiveness  prompted,  and  as  nevertheless, 
for  a  nascent  reason  connected  with  the  divinely-cut  lips 
of  his,  she  did  not  like  him  to  be  absent  from  her  side,  she 
wandered  desultorily  back  to  the  oak  staircase,  pouting 
and  casting  her  eyes  about  in  hope  of  discerning  liis  boy- 
ish figure. 

Though  daylight  still  prevailed  in  the  rooms,  the  cor- 
ridors were  in  a  depth  of  shadow — chill,  sad,  and  silent ; 
and  it  was  only  by  looking  along  them  towards  light  spaces 
beyond  that  anything  or  anybody  could  be  discerned  there- 
in. One  of  these  light  spots  she  found  to  be  caused  by  a 
side-door  with  glass  panels  in  the  upper  part.  Elfride 
opened  it,  and  found  herself  confronting  a  secondary  or 
inner  lawn,  separated  from  the  principal  lawn  front  by  a 
shrubbery. 

And  now  she  saw  a  perplexing  sight.  At  right-angles 
to  the  face  of  the  wing  she  had  emerged  from,  and  within 
a  few  feet  of  the  door,  jutted  out  another  wing  of  the  man- 
sion, lower  and  with  less  architectural  character.  Imme- 
diately opposite  to  her,  in  the  wall  of  this  wing,  was  a  large 
broad  window,  having  its  blind  drawn  down,  and  illumina- 
ted by  a  light  in  the  room  it  screened. 

On  the  blind  was  a  shadow  from  somebody  close  inside 
it — a  person  in  profile.  The  profile  was  unmistakably  that 
of  Stephen.  It  was  just  possible  to  see  that  his  aims  were 
uplifted,  and  that  his  hands  held  an  article  of  some  kind. 
Then  another  shadow  appeared  —  also  in  profile — and 
came  close  to  him.     This  was  the  shadow  of  a  womaa 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


41 


She  turned  her  back  towards  Stephen  :  he  lifted  and  held 
out  what  now  proved  to  be  a  shawl  or  mantle — placed  it 
carefully — so  carefully — round  the  lady  ;  disappeared  ;  re- 
appeared j  reappeared  in  her  front — fastened  the  mantle. 
Did  he  then  kiss  her  ?  Surely  not.  Yet  the  motion  77iight 
have  been  a  kiss.  Then  both  shadows  swelled  to  colossal 
dimensions — grew  distorted — vanished. 

Two  minutes  elapsed. 

"  Ah,  Miss  Swancourt !  1  am  so  glad  to  find  you.  I 
was  looking  for  you,"  said  a  voice  at  her  elbow — Stephen'3 
voice.     She  stepped  into  the  passage. 

"  Do  you  know  any  of  the  members  of  this  establish* 
inent?  "  said  she. 

"  Not  a  single  one :  how  should  I  ?  "  he  replied 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"FARE   THEE   WEEL  A  WHILE." 

SIMULTANEOUSLY  with  the  conclusion  of  Stephen's 
remark,  the  sound  of  the  closing  of  an  external  door 
in  their  immediate  neighborhood  reached  Elfride's  ears. 
It  came  from  the  further  side  of  the  wing  containing  the 
illuminated  room.  She  then  discerned,  by  the  aid  of  the 
dusky  departing  light,  a  figure,  whose  sex  was  undistinguish- 
able,  walking  down  the  gravelled  path  by  the  parterre  to- 
wards the  river.  The  figure  grew  fainter,  and  vanished 
under  the  trees. 

Mr.  Swancourt's  voice  was  heard  calling  out  their  names 
from  a  distant  corridor  in  the  body  of  the'building.  They 
retraced  their  steps,  and  found  him  with  his  coat  buttoned 
up  and  his  hat  on,  awaiting  their  advent  in  a  mood  of  self- 
satisfaction  at  having  brought  his  search  to  a  successful 
close.  The  carriage  was  brought  round,  and  without 
farther  delay  the  trio  drove  away  from  the  mansion,  under 
the  echoing  gateway  arch,  and  along  by  the  leafless  syca- 
mores, as  the  stars  began  to  kindle  their  trembling  lights 
behind  the  maze  of  branches  and  twigs. 

No  words  were  spoken  either  by  youth  or  maiden.  Her 
unpracticed  mind  was  completely  occupied  in  fathoming  its 
recent  acquisition  relative  to  her  companion.  The  young 
man  who  had  inspired  her  with  such  novelty  of  mood  in 
relation  to  himself,  having  come  directly  from  London  on 
business  to  her  father,  having  been  brought  by  chance  to 
Endelstow  House,  had,  by  some  means  or  other,  acquired 
the  privilege  of  approaching  some  lady  he  had  found 
therein,  and  honoring  her  hy  pc/lts  soins  of  a  marked  kind, 
—  all  in  the  space  of  half  an  hour. 

What  room  were  they  standing  in?  thought  Elfride. 
As  nearly  as  she  could  guess,  it  was  Lord  Luxellian's 


A   PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


43 


business-room,  or  office.  What  people  were  in  the  house  ? 
None  but  the  governess  and  servants,  as  far  as  she  knew, 
and  of  these  he  had  professed  a  total  ignorance.  Had  the 
person  she  had  indistinctly  seen  leaving  the  house  anything 
to  do  with  the  performance  ?  It  Vv'as  impossible  to  say 
without  appealing  to  the  culprit  himself,  and  that  she  would 
never  do.  The  more  Elfride  reflected,  the  more  certain 
did  it  appear  that  the  meeting  was  a  chance  rencounter, 
and  not  an  appointment.  After  passing  again  to  the  ulti- 
mate inquiry  as  to  the  individuality  of  the  female,  Elfride 
at  once  assumed  that  she  could  not  be  an  inferior.  Stephen 
Smith  was  not  the  man  to  care  about  passages-at-love  with 
women  beneath  him.  Though  gentle,  ambition  was  visible 
in  his  kindling  eyes ;  he  evidently  hoped  for  much  ;  hoped 
indefinitely,  but  extensively.  Elfride  was  puzzled,  and, 
being  puzzled,  was,  by  a  natural  sequence  of  girlish  sensa- 
tions, vexed  with  him.  No  more  pleasure  came  in  recogniz- 
ing that,  from  liking  to  attract  him,  she  was  getting  on  to 
love  him,  boyish  as  he  was,  and  innocent  as  he  had  seemed. 

They  reached  the  bridge  which  formed  a  link  between 
the  eastern  and  western  halves  of  the  parish.  Situated  in 
a  valley  that  was  bounded  outwardly  by  the  sea,  it  formed 
a  point  of  depression  from  which  the  road  ascended  with 
great  steepness  to  West  Endelstow  and  the  vicarage. 
There  was  no  absolute  necessity  for  either  of  them  to 
alight,  but  as  it  was  the  vicar's  custom  after  a  long  journey 
to  humor  the  horse  in  making  this  winding  ascent,  Elfride, 
moved  by  an  imitative  instinct,  suddenly  jumped  out  when 
Pleasant  had  just  begun  to  adopt  the  deliberate  stalk  he 
associated  with  this  portion  of  the  road. 

The  young  man  seemed  glad  of  any  excuse  for  breaking 
the  silence.  "  Why,  Miss  Swancourt,  what  a  risky  thing  to 
do !  "  he  exclaimed,  immediately  following  her  example  by 
jumping  down  on  the  other  side. 

"  O  no,  not  at  all,"  replied  miss  coldly ;  the  shadov^ 
phenomenon  at  Endelstow  House  still  paramount  within 
her. 

Stephen  walked  along  by  himself  for  two  or  three 
minutes,  wrapped  in  the  rigid  reserve  dictated  by  her  tone. 
Then  apparently  thinking  that  it  was  only  for  girls  to  pout, 
he  came  serenely  round  to  her  side,  and  offered  his  drnx. 


44  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

with   Castilian  gallantry,   to   assist  her  in  ascending  the 
remaining  three-quarters  of  the  steep. 

Here  was  a  temptation :  it  was  the  first  time  in  her  life 
that  Elfride  had  been  treated  as  a  grown-up  woman  in  this 
way — offered  an  arm  in  a  manner  impl3dng  that  she  had 
a  right  to  refuse  it.  Till  to-night  she  had  never  received 
masculine  attentions  beyond  those  which  might  be  con- 
tained in  such  homely  remarks  as  "  Elfride,  give  me  your 
hand,"  "  Elfride,  take  hold  of  my  arm,"  from  her  father. 
Her  callow  heart  made  an  epoch  of  the  incident;  she 
considered  her  array  of  feelings,  for  and  against.  Collec- 
tively they  were  for  taking  this  offered  arm. ;  the  single  one 
of  pique  determined  her  to  punish  Stephen  by  refusing. 

"  No,  thank  you,  Mr.  Smith ;  I  can  get  along  better  by 
myself." 

It  was  Elfride's  first  fragile  attempt  at  browbeating  a 
lover.  Fearing  more  the  issue  of  such  an  undertaking, 
than  what  a  gentle  young  man  might  think  of  her  wayward 
ness,  she  immediately  afterwards  determined  to  please  her 
self  by  reversing  her  statement. 

"  On  second  thoughts,  I  will  take  it,"  she  said. 

They  slowly  wended  their  way  up  the  hill,  a  few  yards 
behind  the  carriage.  "  How  silent  you  are,  Miss  Swan- 
court!"  Stephen  observed. 

"  Perhaps  I  think  you  silent,  too,"  she  returned. 

"  I  may  have  reason  to  be." 

"  Scarcely ;  it  is  sadness  that  makes  people  silent,  and 
you  can  have  none." 

"  You  don't  know  :  I  have  a  trouble  ;  though  some 
might  think  it  less  a  trouble  than  a  dilemma." 

"  What  is  it .''  "  she  asked  impulsively. 

Stephen  hesitated.  "I  might  tell,"  he  said  j  "at  the 
same  time  perhaps  it  is  as  well — " 

She  let  go  his  arm  and  imperatively  pushed  it  from  her, 
tossing  her  head.  She  has  just  learnt  that  a  good  deal  of 
dignity  is  lost  by  asking  a  question  to  which  an  answer  is 
refused,  even  ever  so  politely ;  for  though  politeness  does 
good  service  in  cases  of  requisition  and  compromise,  it  buc 
little  helps  a  direct  refusal.  "  I  don't  wish  to  know  any- 
thing of  it ;  I  don't  wish  it,"  she  went  on.  "The  carriage 
IS  waiting  for  us  at  the  top  of  the  hill ;  we  must  get  in  ; " 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 


4S 


and  Elfride  flitted  to  the  front.  "  Papa,  here  is  your  El- 
fride  !  "  she  exclaimed  to  the  dusky  figure  of  the  old  gentle- 
man, as  she  sprang  up  and  sank  by  his  side  without  deign- 
ing to  accept  aid  from  Stephen. 

"  Ah,  yes  1 "  uttered  the  vicar  in  artificially  alert  tones, 
awaking  from  a  most  profound  sleep,  and  suddenly  pre- 
paring to  ahght. 

"  Why,  what  are  you  doing,  papa  !  We  are  not  home 
yet." 

"  O  no,  no ;  of  course  not ;  we  are  not  at  home  yet," 
Mr.  Swancourt  said  very  hastily,  endeavoring  to  dodge 
back  to  his  original  position  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had 
not  moved  at  all.  "  The  fact  is  I  was  so  lost  in  deep  medi- 
tation that  I  forgot  whereabouts  we  were."  And  in  a 
minute  the  vicar  was  snoring  again. 

That  evening,  being  tiie  last,  seemed  to  throw  an  excep- 
tional shade  of  sadness  over  Stephen  Smith,  and  the 
repeated  injunctions  of  the  vicar,  that  he  was  to  come  and 
revisit  them  in  the  summer,  apparently  tended  less  to  raise 
bis  spirits  than  to  unearth  'some  misgiving. 

He  left  them  in  the  grey  light  of  dawn,  while  the  colors 
of  earth  were  sombre,  and  the  sun  was  yet  hidden  in  the 
east.  Elfride  had  fidgeted  all  night  in  her  litde  bed  lest 
none  of  the  household  should  be  awake  soon  enough  to 
start  him,  and  also  iest  she  might  miss  seeing  again  the 
bright  eyes  and  curly  hair,  to  which  their  owner's  possession 
of  a  hidden  mystery  added  a  deeper  tinge  of  romance.  To 
some  extent — so  soon  does  womanly  interest  take  a  solici- 
tous turn — she  felt  herself  resjwnsible  for  his  safe  conduct. 
They  breakfasted  before  daylight ;  Mr.  Swancourt,  being 
more  and  more  taken  with  his  guest's  ingenuous  appear- 
ance, having  determined  to  rise  early  and  bid  him  a  friend- 
ly farewell.  It  was,  however,  rather  to  the  vicar's  astonish- 
ment that  he  saw  Elfride  walk  in  to  the  breakfast-table, 
candle  in  hand. 

While  William  Worm  performed  his  toilet  (during  which 
performance  the  inmates  of  the  vicarage  were  always  in  the 
habit  of  waiting  with  exemplary  patience),  Elfride  wandered 
desultorily  to  the  sum.mer-house.  Stephen  followed  her 
thither.     The  copse-covered  valley  was   visible  from    this 


46 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


position,  a  mist  now  lying  all  along  its  length,  hiding  the 
stream  which  trickled  through  it,  though  the  observers  them- 
selves were  in  clear  air. 

They  stood  close  together,  leaning  over  the  rustic  bal- 
ustrading  which  bounded  the  arbor  on  the  outward  side, 
and  formed  the  crest  of  a  steep  slope  beneath.^  Elfride 
constrainedly  pointed  out  some  features  of  the  distant  up- 
lands rising  irregularly  opposite.  But  the  artistic  eye  was, 
either  from  nature  or  circumstance,  very  faint  in  Stephen 
now,  and  he  only  half  attended  to  her  description,  as  if  he 
spared  time  from  some  other  thought  going  on  within  him. 

"Well,  good-bye,"  he  said  suddenly;  "  I  must  never  see 
you  again,  I  suppose,  Miss  Swancourt,  in  spite  of  invita- 
tions." 

His  genuine  tribulation  played  directly  upon  the  delicate 
chords  of  her  nature.  She  could  afford  to  forgive  him  for  a 
concealment  or  two.  Moreover  the  shyness  which  would 
not  allow  him  to  look  her  in  the  face  lent  bravery  to  her 
own  eyes  and  tongue. 

"  O  ^  come  again,  Mr.  Smith  !  "  she  said  prettily. 

"  I  should  delight  in  it ;  but  it  would  be  better  if  I  do 
not." 

«  Why  ? " 

"  Certain  circumstances  in  connection  with  me  make  it 
undesirable.     Not  on  my  account ;  on  yours." 

"  Goodness !  As  if  anything  in  connection  with  you 
could  hurt  me,"  she  said  with  serene  supremacy  ;  but  seeing 
that  this  plan  of  treatment  was  inappropriate,  she  tuned  a 
smaller  note.  "  Ah,  I  know  why  you  will  not  come.  You 
don't  want  to.  You'll  go  home  to  London  and  to  all  the  stir- 
ring people  there,  and  will  never  want  to  see  us  any  more.'* 

*'  You  know  I  have  no  such  reason." 

"  And  go  on  writing  letters  to  the  lady  you  are  engaged 
to,  just  as  before." 

"What  does  that  mean?  I  am  not  engaged." 

"You  wrote  a  letter  to  a  Miss  Somebody ;  I  saw  it  in 
the  letter-rack." 

"  Pooh !  an  elderly  woman  who  keeps  a  stationer*s 
shop ;  and  it  was  to  tell  her  to  keep  my  newspaper  till  I 
get  back." 

"  You   needn't   have   explained  ;   it  was  not  my   busi 


A  PAIR  i.y  BLUE  EYES.  47 

ness  at  all."  Miss  Elfride  was  rather  relieved  to  hear  that 
statement,  nevertheless.  "  And  you  won't  come  again  to 
see  papa  ?  "  she  insisted. 

''  I  should  like  to — and  to  see  you  again,  but — " 

"Will  you  reveal  to  me  that  matter  you  hide?"  she 
Interrupted  petulantly. 

"  No  j  not  now." 

She  could  not  but  go  on,  graceless  as  it  might  seem. 

"  Tell  me  this,"  she  importuned,  with  a  trembling  mouth. 
"  Does  any  meeting  of  yours  with  a  lady  at  Endelstow 
House  clash  with — any  interest  you  may  take  in  me  ?" 

He  started  a  little.  ''  It  does  not,"  he  said  emphatical- 
ly ;  and  looked  into  the  pupils  of  her  eyes  with  the  confi- 
dence that  only  honesty  can  give,  and  even  that  to  youth 
alone. 

The  explanation  had  not  come,  but  a  gloom  left  her. 
She  could  not  but  believe  that  utterance.  Whatever  enig- 
ma might  lie  in  the  shadow  on  the  blind,  it  was  not  an 
enigma  of  underhand  passion. 

She  turned  towards  the  house,  entering  it  through  the 
conservatory.  Stephen  went  round  to  the  front  door. 
Mr.  Swancourt  was  standing  on  the  step  in  his  slippers. 
Worm  was  adjusting  a  buckle  in  the  harness,  and  murmur- 
ing about  his  poor  head ;  and  everything  was  ready  for 
Stephen's  departure. 

"  You  named  August  for  your  visit.  August  it  shall  be  ; 
that  is,  if  you  care  for  the  society  of  such  a  fossilized  Tory," 
said  Mr.  Swancourt. 

Mr.  Smith  only  responded  hesitatingly,  that  he  should 
like  to  come  again. 

"  You  said  you  would,  and  you  must,"  insisted  Elfride, 
comkig  to  the  door  and  speaking  under  her  father's  arm. 

Whatever  reason  the  youth  may  have  had  for  not  wish- 
ing to  enter  the  house  as  a  guest,  it  no  longer  predominated. 
He  promised,  and  bade  them  adieu,  and  got  into  the  pony 
carriage,  which  crept  up  the  slope  and  bore  him  out  of 
their  sight. 

"I  never  was  so  much  taken  with  anybody  in  my  life 
as  I  am  with  that  young  fellow — never  I  I  cannot  under- 
stand it — can't  understand  it  anyhow,"  said  Mr.  Swancourt 
quite  energetically  to  himself;  and  went  indoors. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


"  NO    MORE    OF    ME    YOU    KNEW,  MY    LOVE." 

THE  history  of  the  first  wooing  of  our  impressionable 
young  heroine  being  to  a  great  extent  preliminary  to 
the  main  story,  we  hurry  through  it  as  rapidly  as  possible. 
In  order,  however,  that  the  future  position  maybe  adequate- 
ly understood,  it  is  necessary  to  give  the  facts  of  the  case 
seriatim. 

Stephen  Smith  revisited  Endelstow  Vicarage,  agreeably 
to  his  promise.  He  had  a  genuine  artistic  reason  for  com- 
ing, though  no  such  reason  seemed  to  be  required.  Six- 
and-lhirty  old  seat-ends,  of  exquisite  fifteenth-century  work- 
manship, were  rapidly  decaying  in  an  aisle  of  the  church; 
and  it  became  politic  to  make  drawings  of  their  worm-eaten 
contours  ere  they  were  battered  past  recognition  in  the  tur^ 
moil  of  the  so-called  restoration. 

He  entered  the  house  at  sunset,  and  th«  world  was 
pleasant  again  to  the  two  fair-haired  ones.  A  momentary 
pang  of  disappointment  had  nevertheless  pass'id  through 
Elfride  when  she  casually  discovered  that  he  had  not  come 
that  minute  post-haste  from  London,  but  had  reached  the 
neighborhood  the  previous  evening.  Surprise  would  have 
accompanied  the  feeling,  had  she  not  remembered  that  sev- 
eral tourists  were  haunting  the  coast  at  this  season,  and 
that  Stephen  might  have  chosen  to  do  hkewise. 

They  did  little  besides  chat  that  evening,  Mr.  Swan- 
court  beginning  to  question  his  visitor,  closely  yet  pater- 
nally, and  in  good  part,  on  his  hopes  and  prospects  from  the 
profession  lie  had  embraced.  Stephen  gave  vague  answers. 
The  next  day  it  rained.  In  the  evening,  when  twenty-four 
hours  of  Elfride  had  completely  rekindled  her  admirer's 
ardor,  a  game  of  chess  was  proposed  between  them. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  49 

The  game  had  its  value  in  helping  on  the  developments 
of  theii  future. 

Elfride  soon  perceived  that  her  opponent  was  but  a 
learner.  She  next  noticed  that  he  had  a  very  odd  way  of 
handling  the  pieces  when  castling  or  taking  a  man.  Ante- 
cedently she  would  have  supposed  that  the  same  perform- 
ance must  be  gone  through  by  all  players  in  the  same  man- 
ner ;  she  was  taught  by  his  differing  action  that  all  ordina- 
ry players,  who  learn  the  game  by  sight,  unconsciously 
touch  the  men  in  a  stereotyped  way.  This  impression  of 
indescribable  oddness  in  Stephen's  touch  culminated  in 
speech  when  she  saw  him,  at  the  taking  of  one  of  her  bish- 
ops, push  it  aside  with  the  taking  man  instead  of  lifdng  it 
as  a  preliminary  to  the  move. 

"How  strangely  you  handle  the  men,  Mr.  Smith?" 

*'  Do  I  ?  I  am  sorry  for  that." 

"  O  no — don't  be  sorry  ;  it  is  not  a  matter  great  enough 
for  sorrow.     But  who  taught  you  to  play  .? " 

"  Nobody,  Miss  Swancourt,"  he  said  respectfully.  "1 
learnt  from  a  book  lent  by  my  friend  Mr.  Knight,  the  no- 
blest man  in  the  world." 

"  But  you  have  seen  people  play  t " 

"  I  have  never  seen  the  playing  of  a  single  game.  This 
is  the  first  time  I  ever  had  the  opportunity  of  playing  with 
a  living  opponent.  I  have  worked  out  many  games  from 
books,  and  studied  the  reasons  of  the  different  moves,  but 
that  is  all." 

This  was  a  full  explanation  of  his  mannerism  ;  but  the 
fact  that  a  man  with  a  desire  for  chess  should  have  grown 
up  without  being  able  to  see  or  engage  in  a  game  astonish- 
ed her  not  a  little.  She  pondered  on  the  circumstance 
for  some  time,  looking  into  vacancy  and  hindering  the 
play. 

Mr.  Swancourt  was  sitting  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
board,  but  apparently  thinking  of  other  things.  Half  to 
himself  he  said,  pending  the  move  of  Elfride  : 

"*Quae  finis  aut  quod  me  manet  stipendium  ? ' " 

Stephen  replied  instantly: 

" '  Effare  :  jussas  cum  fide  poenas  luam.'  " 

"  Excellent — prompt — gratifying  !  "  said  Mr.  Swancourt 
with  feeling,  bringing  down  his  hand  upon  the  table,  and 


50 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


making  three  pawns  and  a  knight  dance  over  their  borders 
by  the  shaking.  "  I  was  musing  on  those  words  as  appli- 
cable to  a  strange  course  I  am  steering — but  enough  of 
that.  I  am  delighted  with  you,  Mr.  Smith,  for  it  is  so  sel- 
dom in  this  desert  that  I  meet  with  a  man  who  is  gentle- 
man and  scholar  enough  to  continue  a  quotation,  however 
trite  it  may  be." 

"  I  also  apply  the  words  to  myself,"  said  Stephen 
quietly. 

"  You  ?  The  last  man  in  the  world  to  do  that,  I  should 
have  thought." 

"  Come,"  murmured  Elfride  poutingly,  and  insinuating 
herself  between  them,  "  tell  me  all  about  it.  Come,  con- 
strue, construe  ! " 

Stephen  looked  steadfastly  into  her  face,  and  said  slow- 
ly, and  in  a  voice  full  of  a  sad  meaning  that  seemed  pain- 
fully premature  in  one  so  young: 

**  Qua3  finis  What  will  be  the  e?id,  aut  or  quod  stipendium 
what  fine  manet  me  awaits  me?  Effare  Speak  out ;  luam 
I  will  pay,  cum  fide  with  faith,  jussas  poenas  the  penalty  en- 
joined y 

The  vicar,  who  had  listened  with  a  critical  compression 
of  the  lips  to  this  schoolboy  recitation,  and  by  reason  of  his 
imperfect  hearing  had  missed  the  marked  realism  of  Ste- 
phen's tone  in  the  English  words,  now  said  hesitatingly  : 
"  By  the  by,  Mr.  Smith  (I  know  you'll  excuse  my  curiosity), 
though  your  translation  was  unexceptionably  correct  and 
close,  you  have  a  way  of  pronouncing  your  Latin  which  to 
me  seems  most  peculiar.  Not  that  the  pronunciation  of  a 
dead  language  is  of  much  importance  ;  yet  your  accents  and 
quantities  have  a  grotesque  sound  to  my  ears.  I  thought  first 
that  you  had  acquired  your  way  of  breathing  the  vowels 
from  some  of  the  northern  colleges  ;  but  it  cannot  be  so 
with  the  quantities.  What  I  was  going  to  ask  was,  if  your 
instructor  in  the  classics  could  possibly  have  been  an  Ox- 
ford or  Cambridge  man  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  he  was  an  Oxford  man — Fellow  of  St.  Cyp- 
rian's." 

"  Really  ? " 

"  O  yes  ;  there's  no  doubt  about  it." 

"The  oddest  thing  ever  I  heard  of!  "  said  Mr.  Swan* 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


51 


court,  starting  with  astonishment.  "  That  the  pupil  of  such 
a  man — " 

"  The  best  and  cleverest  man  in  England  I  "  cried  Ste- 
phen enthusiastically. 

" — That  the  pupil  of  such  a  man  should  pronounce  Lat- 
in in  the  way  you  pronounce  it  beats  all  I  ever  heard. 
How  long  did  he  instruct  you  ?  " 

"  Four  years." 

"  Four  years  !  " 

"  It  is  not  so  strange  when  I  explain,"  Stephen  hastened 
to  say.  "  It  was  done  in  this  way — by  letter.  I  sent  him 
exercises  and  construing  twice  a  week,  and  twice  a  week 
he  sent  them  back  to  me  corrected,  with  marginal  notes  of 
instruction.  That  is  how  I  learnt  my  Latin  and  Greek, 
such  as  it  is.  He  is  not  responsible  for  my  scanning.  He 
has  never  heard  me  scan  a  line." 

"A  novel  case,  and  a  singular  instance  of  patience?" 
cried  the  vicar. 

"  On  his  part,  not  on  mine.  -Ah,  Henry  Knight  is  one 
in  a  thousand  !  I  remember  his  speaking  to  me  on  this 
very  subject  of  pronunciation.  He  says  that,  much  to  his 
regret,  he  sees  a  time  coming  when  every  man  will  pro- 
nounce even  the  common  words  of  his  own  tongue  as  seems 
right  in  his  own  eyes,  and  be  thought  none  the  worse  for 
it ;  that  the  speaking  age  is  passing  away,  to  make  room 
for  the  writing  age." 

Both  Elfride  and  her  father  had  waited  attentively  to 
hear  Stephen  go  on  to  what  would  have  been  the  most 
interesting  part  of  the  story,  namely,  what  circumstances 
could  have  necessitated  such  an  unusual  method  of  educa- 
tion. But  no  farther  explanation  was  volunteered  ;  and 
they  saw,  by  the  young  man's  manner  of  concentrating 
himself  upon  the  chess-board,  that  he  was  anxious  to  drop 
the  subject. 

The  game  proceeded.  Elfride  played  by  rote  ;  Stephen 
by  thought.  It  was  the  cruellest  thing  to  checkmate  him 
after  so  much  labor,  she  considered.  What  was  she  dis- 
honest enough  to  do  in  her  compassion  ?  To  let  him  check- 
mate her.  A  second  game  followed  ;  and  being  herself 
absohitely  indifferent  as  to  the  result  (her  playing  was 
above  the  average  among  women,  and  she  knew  it),  she 


52 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


allowed  him  to  give  checkmate  again.  A  final  game,  in 
which  she  adopted  the  Muzio  gambit,  as  her  opening,  was 
terminated  by  Elfride's  victory  at  the  twelfth  move. 

Stephen  looked  up  suspiciously.  His  heart  was  throb- 
bing even  more  excitedly  than  was  hers,  which  itself  had 
quickened  when  she  seriously  set  to  work  on  this  last  occa- 
sion.    Mr.  Swancourt  had  left  the  room. 

"You  have  been  trifling  with  me  till  now!"  he  ex- 
claimed, his  face  flushing.  "  You  did  not  play  your  best  in 
the  first  two  games  ?" 

Elfride's  guilt  showed  in  her  face.  Stephen  became  the 
picture  of  vexation  and  sadness,  which,  relishable  for  a 
moment,  caused  her  the  next  instant  to  regret  the  mistake 
she  had  made. 

"  Mr.  Smith,  forgive  me  ! "  she  said  sweetly.  "  I  see 
now,  though  I  did  not  at  first,  that  what  I  have  done  seems 
like  contempt  for  your  skill.  But  indeed  I  did  not  mean  it 
in  that  sense.  I  could  not,  upon  my  conscience,  win  a 
victory  in  those  first  and  second  games  over  one  who  fought 
at  such  a  disadvantage  and  so  manfully." 

He  drew  a  long  breath,  and  murmured  bitterly,  "  Ah, 
you  are  cleverer  than  me.  You  can  do  everything — I  can 
do  nothing!  O,  Miss  Swancourt!"  he  burst  out  wildly, 
his  heart  swelling  in  his  throat,  and  tears  creeping  into  his 
eyes,  "  I  must  tell  you  how  I  love  you  !  All  these  months 
of  my  absence  I  have  worshipped  you." 

He  leaped  from  his  seat  like  the  impulsive  lad  that  he 
was,  slid  round  to  her  side,  and  almost  before  she  suspected 
it  his  arm  was  round  her  waist,  and  the  two  sets  of  curls 
intermingled. 

So  entirely  new  was  full-blown  love  to  Elfride,  that  she 
trembled  as  much  from  the  novelty  of  the  emotion  as  from 
the  emotion  itself. 

Then  she  suddenly  withdrew  herself  and  stood  upright, 
vexed  that  she  had  submitted  unresistingly  even  to  his 
momentary  pressure.  She  resolved  to  consider  this  demon- 
stration as  premature. 

"  You  must  not  begin  such  things  as  those,"  she  said 
with  coquettish  hauteur  of  a  very  transparent  nature. 
"And — you  must  not  do  so  again — and  papa  is  coming." 

*'  Let  me  kiss  you — only  a  little  one,"  he  said,  with  his 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES. 


53 


usual  timidity,  and  without  reading  the  factitiousness  of 
her  manner. 

"  No ;  not  one." 

"  Only  on  your  cheek  ? " 
f        "No." 

"Forehead?" 

"  Certainly  not." 

"You  care  for  somebody  else,  then?  Ah,  I  thought 
so!" 

"I  am  sure  I  do  not." 

"  Nor  for  me  either  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  1 "  she  said  simply,  the  simplicity  lying 
merely  in  the  broad  outlines  of  her  manner  and  speech. 
There  were  the  semitone  of  voice  and  half-hidden  expres- 
sion of  eyes  which  tell  the  initiated  how  very  fragile  is  the 
ice  of  reserve  at  these  times. 

Footsteps  were  heard.  Mr.  Swancourt  then  entered 
the  room,  and  their  private  colloquy  ended. 

The  day  after  this  partial  revelation,  Mr.  Swancourt 
proposed  a  drive  to  Tidmouth  Beach,  a  distance  of  three 
or  four  miles. 

Half  an  hour  before  the  time  of  departure  a  crash  was 
heard  in  the  back  yard,  and  presently  Worm  came  in,  say- 
ing partly  to  the  world  in  general,  partly  to  himself,  and 
slightly  to  his  auditors : 

"  Ay,  ay,  sure  !  That  frying  of  fish  will  be  the  end  of 
William  Worm.  They  be  at  it  again  this  morning — same 
as  ever — fizz,  fizz,  fizz !  " 

"  Your  head  bad  again.  Worm  t "  said  Mr.  Swancourt. 
"  What  was  that  noise  we  heard  in  the  yard  t " 

"  Ay,  sir,  a  weak  wambling  man  am  I  ;  and  the  frying 
have  been  going  on  in  my  poor  head  all  through  the  long 
night  and  this  morning  as  usual ;  and  I  was  so  dazed  wi'  it 
that  down  fell  a  piece  of  leg-wood  across  the  shaft  of  the 
pony-shay,  and  splintered  it  off*.  'Ay,'  says  I,  '  I  feel  it  as 
if  'twas  my  own  shay  ;  and  though  I've  done  it,  and  parish- 
pay  is  my  lot  if  I  go  from  here,  perhaps  I  am  as  indepen- 
dent as  one  here  and  there.' " 

"  Dear  me,  the  shaft  of  the  carriage  broken  !  "  synthet- 
ized  Elfride.     She  was  disappointed :  Stephen  doubly  so. 


54 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


The  vicar  showed  more  warmth  of  temper  than  the  acci 
dent  seemed  to  demand,  much  to  Stephen's  uneasiness  and 
rather  to  his  surprise.  He  had  not  supposed  so  much 
latent  sternness  could  co-exist  with  Mr.  Swancourt's  frank- 
ness and  good  nature. 

"You  shall  not  be  disappointed,"  said  the  vicar  at 
length.  "  It  is  almost  too  long  a  distance  for  you  to  walk. 
El  hide  can  trot  down  on  her  pon)',  and  you  shall  have  my 
old  nag,  Smith." 

Elfride  exclaimed  triumphantly,  "You  have  never  seen 
me  on  horseback — O,  you  must !  "  She  looked  at  Stephen 
and  read  his  thoughts  in  his  face.  "  Ah,  you  don't  ride, 
Mr.  Smith  ? " 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  I  don't." 

"Fancy  a  gentleman  not  able  to  ride  !  "  said  she  rather 
pertly. 

The  vicar  came  to  his  rescue.  "  That's  common 
enough ;  he  has  had  other  lessons  to  learn.  Now,  I  re- 
commend this  plan:  let  Elfride  ride  on  horseback,  and  you, 
Mr.  Smith,  walk  beside  her." 

The  arrangement  was  welcomed  with  secret  delight  by 
Stephen.  It  seemed  to  combine  in  itself  all  the  advantages 
of  a  long  slow  ramble  with  Elfride,  without  the  contingent 
possibility  of  the  enjoyment  being  spoilt  by  her  becoming 
weary.     The  pony  was  saddled  and  brought  round. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Smith,"  said  the  lady  imperatively,  coming 
down  stairs,  and  appearing  in  her  riding-habit,  as  she 
always  did  in  a  change  of  dress,  like  a  new  edition  of  a 
delightful  volume,  "  you  have  a  task  to  perform  to-day. 
These  ear-rings  are  my  very  favorite  darling  ones ;  but  the 
worst  of  it  is  that  they  have  such  short  hooks  that  they  are 
liable  to  be  dropped  if  I  toss  my  head  about  much,  and 
when  I  am  riding  I  can't  give  my  mind  to  them.  It  would 
be  doing  me  knight-service  if  you  keep  your  eyes  fixed 
upon  them  and  remember  them  every  minute  of  the  day, 
and  tell  me  directly  I  drop  one.  They  have  had  such 
hair-breadth  escapes,  haven't  thc}^.  Unity.'"'  she  continueo 
to  the  parlor-maid,  who  was  standing  at  the  door. 

"  Yes,  miss,  that  they  have !  "  said  Unity,  with  round 
tJi/ed  commiseration. 


A  tAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES.  5  5 

**  Once  'twas  in  the  lane  that  I  found  one  of  them,"  pur- 
jSued  Elfride  reflectively. 

"  And  then  'twas  by  the  gate  into  Eighteen  Acres,"  Uni- 
ty chimed  in. 

"  And  then  'twas  on  the  carpet  in  my  own  room,"  re- 
joined Elfride  merrily. 

"  And  then  'twas  dangling  on  the  embroidery  of  your 
petticoat,  miss  ;  and  then  'twas  down  your  back,  miss, 
wasn't  i';  ?  And  O,  what  a  way  you  was  in,  miss,  wasn't 
you  ?  my  !  until  you  found  it !  " 

Stephen  took  Elfride's  slight  foot  upon  his  hand  :  "  One, 
two,  three,  and  up !  "  she  said. 

Unfortunately  not  so.  He  staggered  and  lifted,  and  the 
horse  edged  round ;  and  Elfride  was  ultimately  deposited 
upon  the  ground  rather  more  forcibly  than  was  pleasant. 
Smith  looked  all  contrition. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  the  vicar  encouragingly ;  "  try 
again  !  'Tis  a  little  accomplishment  that  requires  some 
practice,  although  it  looks  so  easy.  Stand  closer  to  the 
horse's  head,  Mr.  Smith." 

''  Indeed  I  sha'n't  let  him  try  again,"  said  she,  with  a 
microscopic  look  of  indignation.  "Worm,  come  here,  and 
assist  me  to  mount."  Worm  stepped  forward,  and  she  was 
in  the  saddle  in  a  trice. 

Then  they  moved  on,  going  for  some  distance  in  silence, 
the  hot  air  of  the  valley  being  occasionally  brushed  from 
their  faces  by  a  cool  breeze,  which  wended  its  way  along 
ravines  leading  up  from  the  sea. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Stephen, "  that  a  man  who  can  neither 
sit  in  a  saddle  himself  nor  help  another  person  into  one 
seems  a  useless  incumbrance;  but,  Miss  Swancourt,  I'll 
learn  to  do  it  all  for  your  sake;  I  will,  indeed." 

"  What  is  so  unusual  in  you,"  she  said,  in  the  didactic 
tone  justifiable  in  a  horsewoman's  address  to  a  benighted 
walker,  "is  that  your  knowledge  of  certain  things  should  be 
combined  with  your  ignorance  of  certain  other  things." 

Stephen  lifted  his  eyes  earnestly  to  hers. 

"  You  know,"  he  said,  "  it  is  simply  because  there  are  so 
many  other  things  to  be  learnt  in  this  wide  world  that  I 
didn't  trouble  about  that  particular  bit  of  knowledge-.  I 
thought  it  would  be  useless  to  me  ;  but  I  don't  think  so 


56  ^  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

now.  I  will  learn  riding,  and  all  connected  with  it,  because 
then  vou  would  like  me  better.  Do  you  like  me  much  less 
for  this?" 

She  looked  sideways  at  him  with  critical  meditation  ten- 
derly rendered. 

"  Do  I  seem  like  La  Belle  Da??te  sans  merciV^  she  be- 
gan suddenly,  without  replying  to  his  question.  "  Fancy 
yourself  saying,  Mr.  Smith: 

"  I  sat  her  on  my  pacing  steed, 

And  nothing  else  saw  all  day  long, 
For  sicJelong  would  she  bend,  and  sing 
A  fairy's  song. 

She  found  me  roots  of  relish  sweet. 
And  honey  wild,  and  manna  dew;*' 

and  that's  all  she  did." 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  young  man  archly,  though  with  ft 
rising  color. 

"'And  sure  in  language  strange  she  said, 
I  love  thee  true.'" 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  rejoined  quickly.  "  See  how  I  can 
gallop.  Now,  Pansy,  off!"  And  Elfride  started;  and 
Stephen  beheld  her  light  figure  contracting  to  the  dimen- 
sions of  a  bird  as  she  sank  into  the  distance — her  hair  flow- 
ing behind.  He  walked  on  in  the  same  direction,  and  for 
a  considerable  time  could  see  no  signs  of  her  returning. 
Dull  as  a  flower  without  the  sun,  he  sat  down  upon  a  stone, 
and  not  for  fifteen  minutes  was  any  sound  of  horse  or  rider 
to  be  heard.  Then  Elfride  and  Pansy  appeared  on  the  hill 
in  a  round  trot. 

"  Such  a  delightful  scamper  as  we  have  had  !  "  she  said, 
her  face  flushed  and  her  eyes  sparkling.  She  turned  the 
horse's  head,  Stephen  arose,  and  they  went  on  again. 

"  Well,  what  have  you  to  say  to  me,  Mr.  Smith,  after  my 
long  absence?" 

"  Do  you  remember  a  question  you  could  not  exactly 
answer  last  night — whether  I  was  more  to  you  than  anybody 
else?"  said  he. 

"  I  cannot  exactly  answer  now,  either." 


A  PAIR  Ot    BLUE  EYES.  57 

«  Why  can't  you  ? " 

"  Because  I  don't  know  if  /am  more  to  you  than  any 
one  else." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  you  are  !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  of 
intensest  appreciation,  at  the  same  time  gliding  round  and 
looking  into  her  face. 

"  Eyes  in  eyes,"  he  said  playfully ;  and  she  blushingly 
obeyed,  looking  back  into  his. 

"  And  why  not  lips  on  lips  ? "  said  Stephen  daringly. 

"  No,  certainly  not.  Anybody  might  look  ;  and  it  wou'd 
be  death  to  me.     You  may  kiss  my  hand  if  you  like." 

He  expressed  by  a  look  that  to  kiss  a  hand  through  a 
glove,  and  that  a  riding-glove,  was  not  a  great  treat  undei 
the  circumstances. 

"  There,  then ;  I'll  take  my  glove  off.  Isn't  it  a  pretty 
white  hand  ?  Ah,  you  don't  want  to  kiss  it,  and  you  shall 
not  now! " 

"  If  I  do  not,  may  I  never  kiss  again,  you  severe  Elfride  I 
You  know  I  think  more  of  you  than  1  can  tell ;  that  you  are 
my  queen.     I  would  die  for  you,  Elfride  !  " 

A  rapid  red  again  filled  her  cheeks,  and  she  looked  at 
him  meditatively.  What  a  proud  moment  it  was  for  Elfride 
then  !  She  was  ruling  a  heart  with  absolute  despotism  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life. 

Stephen  stealthily  pounced  upon  her  hand. 

"  No  ;  I  won't,  I  won't,"  she  said  intractably  ;  "and  you 
shouldn't  take  me  by  surprise." 

There  ensued  a  mild  form  of  tussle  for  absolute  posses- 
sion of  the  much-coveted  hand,  in  which  the  boisterousness 
of  boy  and  girl  was  far  more  prominent  than  the  dignity  of 
man  and  woman.  Then  Pansy  became  restless.  Elfride 
recovered  her  position  and  remembered  herself. 

"  You  make  me  behave  in  not  a  nice  way  at  all !  "  she 
exclaimed,  in  a  tone  neither  pleased  nor  angry,  but  partak- 
ing of  both.  "I  ought  not  to  have  allowed  such  a  romp. 
We  are  too  old  now  for  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  I  hope  you  don't  think  me  too — too  much  of  a  creep- 
ing-round sort  of  man,"  said  he,  in  a  penitent  tone,  conscious 
that  he  too  had  lost  a  little  dignity  by  the  proceeding. 

"  You  are  too  familiar  ;  and  I  can't  have  it !     Consider- 
ing the  shortness  of  the  time  we  have  known  each  other,  Mr. 
-,* 


58 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


Smith,  you  take  too  much  upon  you.     You  think  I  am  a 
country  girl,  and  it  doesn't  matter  how  you  behave  to  me  !  " 

"I  assure  you.  Miss  Svvancourt,  that  I  had  no  idea  of 
freak  in  my  mind.  I  wanted  to  imprint  a  sweet  serious  kiss 
upon  your  hand ;  and  that's  all." 

"  Now,  that's  creeping  round  again  !  And  you  mustn't 
look  into  my  eyes  so,"  she  said,  playfully  shaking  her  head 
at  him,  and  trotting  on  a  few  paces  in  advance.  Thus  she 
led  the  way  out  of  the  lane  and  across  some  fields  in  the 
direction  of  the  cliffs.  At  the  boundary  of  the  fields  near- 
est the  sea  she  expressed  a  wish  to  dismount.  The  horse 
was  tied  to  a  post,  and  they  both  followed  an  irregular  path, 
which  ultimately  terminated  upon  a  flat  ledge  passing  round 
the  face  of  the  huge  blue-black  rock  at  a  height  about  mid- 
way between  the  sea  and  the  topmost  verge.  There,  far 
beneath  and  before  them,  lay  the  everlasting  stretch  of 
ocean ;  there,  upon  detached  rocks,  were  the  white  scream- 
ing gulls,  seeming  ever  intending  to  settle,  and  yet  always 
passing  on.  Right  and  left  ranked  the  toothed  and  zigzag 
line  of  storm-torn  heights,  forming  the  series  which  culmi 
nated  in  the  one  beneath  their  feet. 

Behind  the  youth  and  maiden  was  a  tempting  alcove  and 
seat,  formed  naturally  in  the  solid  beetling  mass,  and  wide 
enough  to  admit  two  or  three  persons.  Elfride  sat  down, 
and  Stephen  sat  beside  her. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  hardly  proper  of  us  to  be  here, 
either,"  she  said,  half  inquiringly.  "  We  have  not  known 
each  other  long  enough  for  this  kind  of  thing,  have  v/e?  '* 

"  O  yes,"  he  replied  judicially  ;  "  quite  long  enough." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  length  of  time,  but  the  manner  in  which  oui 
minutes  beat,  that  makes  enough  or  not  enough  in  acquaint- 
anceship." 

*'  Yes,  I  see  that.  But  I  wish  papa  suspected  or  knew 
what  a  very  tiew  thing  I  am  doing.  He  does  not  think  of 
it  at  all." 

"  Darling  Elfie,  I  wish  we  could  be  married  1  It  is 
jvrong  for  me  to  say  it — I  know  it  is — before  you  know 
more ;  but  I  wish  we  might  be,  all  the  same.  Do  you  love 
me  deeply,  deeply  ? " 

"  No,"  she  said,  in  a  fluster. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES,  5^ 

At  this  point-blank  denial,  Stephen  turned  his  face  away 
decisively,  and  presen/ed  an  ominous  silence  j  the  only  ob- 
jects of  interest  on  earth  for  him  being  apparently  the  three 
or  four  score  sea-birds  circling  in  the  air  afar  off. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  stop  you  quite,"  she  faltered,  with 
some  alarm  ;  and  seeing  that  he  still  remained  silent,  she 
added,  more  anxiously,  "  If  you  say  that  again,  perhaps,  I 
will  not  be  quite — quite  so  obstinate —  if — if  you  don't  like 
me  to  be." 

"  O,  my  Elfride  !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  kissed  her.  ^ 

It  was  Elfride's  first  kiss.  And  so  awkward  and  unused 
was  she  ;  full  of  striving — no  relenting.  None  of  those  ap- 
parent struggles  to  get  out  of  the  trap  which  only  result  in 
getting  farther  in.  No  final  attitude  of  receptivity.  No 
easy  close  of  shoulder  to  shoulder,  hand  upon  hand,  face 
upon  face,  and  in  spite  of  coyness,  the  lips  in  the  right  place 
at  the  supreme  moment.  That  graceful  though  apparently 
accidental  falling  into  position,  which  many  have  noticed  as 
precipitating  the  end  and  making  sweethearts  the  sweeter, 
was  not  here.  Why  ?  Because  experience  was  absent.  A 
woman  must  have  had  many  kisses  before  she  kisses  well. 

In  fact,  the  art  of  tendering  the  lips  for  thes'2  amatory 
salutes  is  based  upon  principles  the  same  as  those  laid 
down  in  treatises  on  legerdemain  for  performing  the  trick 
called  Forcing  a  Card.  The  card  is  to  be  shifted  nimbly, 
withdrawn,  edged  under,  and  withal  not  to  be  offered  till 
the  moment  the  unsuspecting  person's  hand  reaches  the 
pack ;  this  forcing  forward  to  be  done  so  modestly  and  yet 
so  coaxingly,  that  the  person  trifled  with  imagines  he  is 
really  choosing  what  is  in  fact  thrust  into  his  hand. 

Well,  there  were  none  of  these  facilities  now :  and  Ste- 
phen was  conscious  of  it — first  with  a  momentary  regret 
that  his  kiss  should  be  spoilt  by  her  confused  manner  of 
receiving  it,  and  then  with  the  pleasant  perception  that  her 
awkwardness  was  her  charm. 

"  And  you  do  care  for  me  and  love  me  ? "  said  he. 

"  Yes." 

"Very  much?" 

"Yes." 

"  And  I  mustn't  ask  you  if  you'll  wait  for  me,  and  be 
my  wife  some  day  ?  " 


5o  ^  P^i^  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  said  naively. 

"There  is  reason  why,  my  Elfride." 

"  Not  any  one  that  I  know  of." 

"Suppose  there  is  something  connected  with  me  which 
makes  it  ahnost  impossible  for  you  to  agree  to  be  my  wife, 
oi  for  your  father  to  countenance  such  an  idea." 

"  Nothing  shall  make  me  cease  to  love  you ;  no  blemish 
can  be  found  upon  your  personal  nature.  That  is  pure  and 
generous,  I  know ;  and  having  that,  how  can  I  be  cold  to 
you  ? " 

"  And  shall  nothing  else  affect  us — shall  nothing  beyond 
my  nature  be  a  part  of  my  quality  in  your  eyes,  Elfie  ?  " 

"  Nothing  whatever,"  she  said,  with  a  breath  of  relief. 
*' Is  that  all?  some  outside  circumstance?  What  do  I 
care  ? " 

"  You  can  hardly  judge,  dear,  till  you  know  what  has  to 
be  judged.  For  that,  we  will  stop  till  we  get  home.  I  be- 
lieve in  you,  but  I  cannot  feel  bright." 

"  Love  is  new,  and  fresh  to  us  as  the  dew ;  and  we  are 
together.  As  the  lovers'  world  goes,  this  is  a  great  deal. 
Stephen,  I  fancy  I  see  the  difference  between  me  and  you 
— between  men  and  women  generally,  perhaps.  I  am  con- 
tent to  build  happiness  on  any  accidental  basis  that  may  lie 
near  at  hand ;  you  are  for  making  a  world  to  suit  your  hap- 
piness." 

"  Elfride,  you  sometimes  say  things  which  make  you 
seem  suddenly  to  become  five  years  older  than  you  are,  or 
than  I  am  ;  and  that  remark  is  one.  I  couldn't  think  so  oid 
as  that,  try  how  I  might.  .  .  .  And  no  lover  has  ever  had 
you,  or  kissed  you  before  ?  " 

*'  Never." 

"  I  knew  that  ;  you  were  so  unused.  You  ride  well,  but 
you  don't  kiss  nicely  at  all  ;  and  I  was  told  once,  by  my 
friend  Knight,  that  that  is  an  excellent  fault  in  woman." 

"  Now,  come  ;  I  must  mount  again,  or  we  shall  not  be 
home  by  dinner-time."  And  they  returned  to  where  Pansy 
stood  tethered.  "  Instead  of  entrusting  my  weight  to  a 
young  man's  unstable  palm,"  she  continued  gayly,  "■  I  prefei 
a  surer  '  upping-stock '  (as  the  villagers  call  it),  in  the  form 
of  a  gate.     There — now  I  am  myself  again." 

They  proceeded  homeward,  at  the  same  walking  pace. 


4  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  6l 

Her  blitheness  won  Stephen  out  of  his  thoughtful ness, 
and  each  forgot  everything  but  the  tone  of  the  moment. 
"  Mr.  Smith  what  did  you  love  me  for.?"  she  said,  after  a 
long  musing  look  at  a  flying  birdl 

"I  don't  know,"  he  replied  idly. 

"  O  yes,  you  do,''  insisted  Elfride. 

"  Perhaps,  for  your  eyes." 

"  What  of  them  ? — now  don't  vex  me  by  a  light  answer. 
What  of  my  eyes  ?  " 

"  O,  nothing  to  be  mentioned.  They  are  indifferently 
good." 

"  Come,  Stephen,  I  won't  have  that.  What  did  you  love 
me  for .?  " 

"  It  might  have  been  for  your  mouth." 

"  Well,  what  about  my  mouth  ? " 

"  I  thought  it  was  a  passable  mouth  enough — " 

"  That's  not  very  comforting." 

" — With  a  pretty  pout  and  sweet  lips;  but  actually, 
nothing  more  than  what  everybodv  has." 

"  Don't  make  up  things  out  of  your  head  as  you  go  on, 
there's  a  dear  Stephen.  Now — what — did — you — love — 
me — for  ? " 

"  Perhaps,  'twas  for  your  neck  and  hair ;  though  I  am 
not  sure :  or  for  your  idle  blood,  that  did  nothing  but  wan- 
der away  from  your  cheeks  and  back  again  ;  but  I  am  not 
sure.  Or  your  hands  and  arms,  that  tliey  eclipsed  all  other 
hands  and  arms  ;  or  your  feet,  that  they  played  about  under 
your  dress  like  little  mice  ;  or  your  tongue,  that  it  was  of  a 
dear  delicate  tone.     But  I  am  not  altogether  sure." 

^  "  Ah,  that's  pretty  to  say  ;  but  I  don't  care  for  your  love, 
if  it  made  a  mere  flat  picture  of  me  in  that  way,  and  not  be- 
ing sure,  and  such  cold  reasoning  ;  but  what  you  felt  I  was, 
you  know,  Stephen"  (at  this  a  stealthy  laugh  ana  frisky  look 
into  his  face),  "  when  you  said  to  yourself,  '  I'll  certainly 
'ove  that  young  lady.'" 

"  1  never  said  it." 

"  When  you  said  to  yourself,  then,  '  I  never  will  love  that 
young  lady.'  " 

"  I  didn't  say  that,  either." 

"  Then  vas  it,  '  1  suppose  I  must  love  that  young 
\ady?'" 


62  ^  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

"  No." 

"What  then?" 

"  'Twas  much  more  fluctuating — not  so  definite.** 

"Tell  me;  do,  do." 

"  It  was  that  I  ought  not  to  think  about  you  if  I  loved 
you  truly." 

"  Ah,  that  I  don't  understand.  There's  no  getting  it  out 
of  you.  I'll  not  ask  you  ever  any  more — never  more — to 
say  out  of  the  deep  reality  of  your  heart  what  you  loved  me 
for." 

''Sweet  tantalizer,  what's  the  use?  It  comes  to  this  sole 
simple  thing :  That  at  one  time  I  had  never  seen  you,  and 
I  didn't  love  you  ;  that  then  I  saw  you,  and  I  did  love  you. 
Is  that  enough  ? " 

"  Yes ;  1  will  make  it  do.  .  .  I  know,  I  think,  what  I  love 
you  for.  You  are  nice-looking,  of  course  ;  but  I  didn't 
mean  for  that.     It  is  because  you  are  so  docile  and  gentle." 

"  Those  are  not  quite  the  correct  qualities  for  a  man  to 
be  loved  for,"  said  Stephen,  in  rather  a  dissatisfied  tone  of 
self-criticism.  "  Well,  never  mind.  I  must  ask  your  papa 
to  allow  us  to  be  engaged  directly  we  get  in-doors.  It  will  be 
for  a  long  time,  Elfie." 

"  I  like  it  the  better.  .  .  Stephen,  don't  mention  it  till  to- 
morrow." 

"Why?" 

"  Because,  if  he  should  object — I  don't  think  he  will  ; 
but  if  he  should — we  shall  have  a  day  longer  of  happiness 
from  our  ignorance.  .  .  Well,  what  are  you  thinking  of  so 
deeply  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  how  my  dear  friend  Knight  would  enjoy 
this  scene.     I  wish  he  could  come  here." 

"  You  seem  very  much  engrossed  with  him,"  she  answer- 
ed, with  a  jealous  little  toss.  "  He  must  be  an  interesting 
man  to  take  up  so  much  of  your  attention." 

"  Interesting !  "  said  Stephen,  his  face  glowing  with  his 
fervor  j  "  noble  -,  you  ought  to  say." 

"  O  yes,  yes ;  I  forgot,"  she  said,  half  satirically.  "  The 
noblest  man  in  England,  as  you  told  us  last  night." 

"  He  is  a  fine  fellow,  laugh  as  ^om  will,  Miss  Elfie." 

"  I  know  he  is  your  hero.  But  what  does  he  do  ?  any 
thing?" 


A  PATR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  5^ 

"lie  writes." 

"What  does  he  write?  I  have  never  heard  of  his  name." 

*'  Because  his  personality,  and  that  of  several  others  like 
him,  is  absorbed  into  a  huge  WE,  namely,  the  impalpable 
entity  called  the  Present — a  social a?id  literary  Review:'' 

''  Is  he  only  a  reviewer  ? " 

"  Only,  Elfie  !  Why  I  can  tell  you  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  be 
on  the  staff  of  the  Frese?it.  Finer  than  being  a  novelist, 
considerably." 

"  That's  a  hit  at  me,  and  my  poor  Court  o  Kellyon  Cas- 
tle:' 

"  No;  Elfride,"  he  whispered;  "I  didn't  mean  that.  I 
mean  that  he  is  really  a  literary  man  of  some  eminence, 
and  not  altogether  a  reviewer.  He  writes  things  of  a  higher 
class  than  reviews,  though  he  reviews  a  book  occasionally. 
His  ordinary  productions  are  social  and  ethical  essays — all 
that  the  Present  contains  which  is  not  literary  reviewing." 

"  I  admit  he  must  be  talented  if  he  writes  for  the  Present, 
We  have  it  sent  to  us  irregularly.  I  want  papa  to  be  a  sub- 
scriber, but  he's  so  Conservative.  Now  the  next  point  in 
this  Mr.  Knight — I  suppose  he  is  a  very  good  man  ? " 

"  An  excellent  man.  I  shall  try  to  be  his  intimate  friend 
some  day." 

"  But  aren't  you  now  ?  " 

*'  No  ;  not  so  much  as  that,"  replied  Stephen,  as  if  such 
a  supposition  were  extravagant.  "  You  see,  it  was  in  this 
way — he  came  originally  from  the  same  place  as  I,  and 
taught  me  things  ;  but  I  am  not  intimate  with  him.  Sha'n't 
I  be  glad  when  I  get  richer  and  better  educated,  and  hob 
and  nob  with  him  !  "  Stephen's  eye  sparkled. 

A  pout  began  to  shape  itself  upon  Elfride's  soft  lips. 
"You  think  always  of  him,  and  like  him  better  than  you  do 
me." 

"  No,  indeed,  Elfride.  The  feeling  is  different  quite.  But 
I  do  like  him,  and  he  deserves  even  more  affection  from 
me  than  I  give." 

"  You  are  not  nice  now,  and  you  make  me  as  jealous  as 
possible;"  she  exclaimed  perversely.  "I  know  you  will 
never  speak  to  any  third  person  of  me  so  warmly  as  you  do 
to  me  of  him." 

"  But  you  don't  understand,  Elfie,"  he  said,  with  an  anx» 


64  ^  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

ions  movement.  "  You  shall  know  him  some  day.  He  is  so 
brilliant — no  it  isn't  exactly  brilliant;  so  thoughtful — nor 
does  thoughtful  express  him — that  it  would  charm  you  to 
talk  to  him.  He's  a  most  desirable  friend  and  that  isn't 
half  I  could  say.*" 

"  I  don't  care  how  good  he  is  ;  I  don't  want  to  know 
him,  because  he  comes  between  me  and  you.  You  think  of 
him  night  and  day,  ever  so  much  more  than  of  an}  body 
else  ;  and  when  you  are  thinking  of  him,  I  am  shut  out  of 
your  mind." 

"  No,  dear  Elfride  ;  I  love  you  dearly." 

•'  And  I  don't  like  you  to  tell  me  so  warmly  about  him 
when  you  are  in  the  middle  of  loving  me.  Stephen,  sup- 
pose that  I  and  this  man  Knight  of  yours  were  both  drown- 
ing, and  you  could  only  save  one  of  us — " 

"  Yes — the  stupid  old  proposition — which  would "  I 
save  ?  " 

"  Well,  which  ?  Not  me." 

"  Both  of  you,"  he  said,  pressing  her  pendent  hand. 

"  No,  that  won't  do  ;  only  one  of  us." 

"I  cannot  say;  I  don't  know.  It  is  disagreeable — - 
quite  a  horrid  idea  to  have  to  handle." 

"  A-ha,  I  know.  You  would  save  him,  and  let  me 
drown,  drown,  drown  ;  and  I  don't  care  about  your  love." 

She  had  endeavored  to  give  a  playful  tone  to  her  words, 
but  the  latter  speech  was  rather  forced  in  its  gayety. 

At  this  point  in  the  discussion  she  trotted  off  to  turn  a 
corner  which  was  avoided  by  the  footpath,  the  road  and  the 
path  uniting  at  a  point  a  little  farther  on.  On  again  making 
her  appearance  she  continually  managed  to  look  in  a  direc- 
tion away  from  him,  and  left  him  in  the  cold  shade  of  her 
displeasure.  Stephen  was  soon  beaten  at  this  game  of  in- 
difference. He  went  round  and  entered  the  range  of  her 
vision. 

"  Are  you  offended,  Elfie  .?  Why  can't  you  talk  ?  " 

"  Save  me,  then,  and  let  that  Mr.  Clever  of  yours  drown. 
I  hate  him.     Now,  which  would  you  ?" 

-'■  Really,  Elfride,  you  should  not  press  such  a  hard 
question.     It  is  absurd  to  ask  it" 

"  Then  I  won't  be  alone  with  you  any  more.  Unkind, 
lo  wound  me  so  ?  " 


A  FAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  VES.  65 

"Come,  Elfie,  let's  make  it  up  and  be  friends." 
*'  Say  you  would  save  me,  then,  and  let  him  drown.''' 
"  I  would  save  you — and  him  too." 
"  And  let  him  drown.     Come,  or  you  don't  love  me  !  " 
"And  let  him  drown,"  he  ejaculated  despairingly. 
"  There  ;  now  I  am  yours ! "  she  said,  and  a  woman's 
flush  of  triumph  lit  her  eyes. 

"  Only  one  ear-ring,  miss,  as  I'm  alive !  "  said  Unity 
on  their  entering  the  hall. 

With  a  face  expressive  of  wretched  misgiving,  Elfride's 
hand  flew  like  an  arrow  to  her  ear. 

"  There  ! "  she  exclaimed  to  Stephen,  looking  at  him 
with  eyes  full  of  reproach. 

"I  quite  forgot,  indeed.  If  I  had  only  remembered  !  " 
he  answered,  with  a  conscience-stricken  face. 

She  wheeled  herself  round,  and  turned  into  the  shrub- 
bery.    Stephen  followed. 

"  If  you  had  told  ine  to  watch  anything,  Stephen,  I 
should  have  religiously  done  it,"  she  capriciously  went  on, 
as  soon  as  she  heard  him  behind  her. 

"  Forgetting  is  forgivable." 

"  Well,  you  will  find  it,  if  you  want  me  to  respect  you 
and  be  engaged  to  you  when  we  hav^e  asked  papa."  She 
considered  a  moment,  and  added  more  seriously,  "  I  know 
now  where  I  dropped  it,  Stephen.  It  was  on  the  clifl".  I 
remember  a  faint  sensation  of  some  change  about  rae,  but 
I  was  too  absent  to  think  of  it  then.  And  that's  where  it 
is  now,  and  you  must  go  and  look  there." 

"  I'll  go  at  once." 

And  he  strode  away  up  the  valley,  under  a  broiling  sun 
-?:id  amid  the  death-like  silence  of  early  afternoon.  He 
a:Dcended,  with  giddy-paced  haste,  the  windy  range  of  rocks 
to  where  they  had  sat,  felt  and  peered  about  the  stones 
and  crannies,  but  Elfride's  stray  jewel  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen.  Next  Stephen  slowly  retraced  his  steps,  and,  pans- 
ing  at  a  cross-road  to  reflect  awhile,  he  left  the  plateau 
and  struck  downwards  across  some  fields,  in  the  direction 
of  Endelstow  House.  He  walked  along  the  path  by  the 
river  without  the  slightest  hesitation  as  to  its  bearing, 
apparently  quite  familiar  with  every  inch  of  the  ground 


65  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

As  the  shadows  began  to  lengthen  and  the  sunlight  to 
mellow,  he  passed  through  two  wicket-gates,  and  drew  near 
the  outskirts  of  Endelstow  Park.  The  river  now  ran  along 
under  the  park  .wall,  previous  to  entering  the  grove  itself^ 
a  little  farther  on. 

Here  stood  a  cottage,  between  the  wall  and  the  stream, 
on  a  slightly  elevated  spot  of  ground,  round  which  the 
river  took  a  turn.  The  characteristic  feature  of  this  snug 
habitation  was  its  one  chimney  in  the  gable  end,  its  square- 
ness of  form  disguised  by  a  huge  cloak  of  ivy,  which  had 
grown  so  luxuriantly  and  extended  so  far  from  its  base, 
as  to  increase  the  apparent  bulk  of  the  chimney  to  the 
dimensions  of  a  tower.  Some  little  distance  from  the 
back  of  the  house  rose  the  park  boundary,  and  over  this 
were  to  be  seen  the  sycamores  of  the  grove,  making  slow 
inclinations  to  the  just-awakening  air. 

Stephen  crossed  the  little  wood  bridge  in  front,  went 
up  to  the  cottage  door,  and  opened  it  without  knock  or 
signal  of  any  kind. 

Exclamations  of  welcome  burst  from  some  person  or 
persons  when  the  door  was  thrust  ajar,  followed  by  the 
scrape  of  chairs  on  a  stone  floor,  as  if  pushed  back  by 
their  occupyers  in  rising  from  a  table.  The  door  was  closed 
again,  and  nothing  could  now  be  heard  from  within,  save  a 
lively  chatter  and  the  rattle  of  plates. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


"  ALLEN-A-DALE  IS  NO  BARON  OR  LORD 


») 


^  T^HE  mists  were  creeping  out  of  pools  and  swamps  foi 
X  their  pilgrimages  of  the  night  when  Stephen  came 
up  to  the  front  door  of  the  vicarage.  Elfride  was  standing 
on  the  step,  illuminated  by  a  lemon-hued  expanse  of  west- 
ern sky. 

*'  You  never  have  been  all  this  time  looking  for  that 
ear-ring  !  "  she  said  anxiously. 

"  O  no  ;  and  I  have  not  found  it." 

"  Never  mind.  Though  I  am  much  vexed  j  they  are 
my  prettiest.  But,  Stephen,  what  ever  have  you  been 
doing — where  have  you  been  ?  I  have  been  so  uneasy.  I 
feared  for  you,  knowing  not  an  inch  of  the  country.  I 
thought,  suppose  he  has  fallen  over  the  cliff!  But  now 
I  am  inclined  to  scold  you  for  frightening  me  so.'' 

"I  must  speak  to  your  papa  now,"  he  said,  rather 
abruptly  ;  "  I  have  so  much  to  say  to  him — and  to  you, 
Elfride." 

"  Will  what  you  have  to  say  endanger  this  nice  time  of 
ours,  and  is  it  that  same  shadowy  secret  you  allude  to  so 
frequently,  and  will  it  make  me  unhappy?" 

"Possibly." 

She  breathed  heavily,  and  looked  around  as  if  for  a 
prompter. 

"  Put  it  off  till  to-morrow,"  she  said. 

He  involuntarily  sighed,  too. 

"No;  it  must  come  to-night.  Where  is  your  father, 
Elfride?" 

*'  Somewhere  in  the  kitchen-garden,  I  think,"  she  re- 
plied. "  That  is  his  favorite  evening  retreat.  I  will  leave 
you  now.     Say  all  that's  to  be  said—do  all  there  is  to  be 


(58  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

done.  Think  of  me  waiting  anxiously  for  the  end."  And 
she  re-entered  the  house. 

She  wailed  in  the  drawing-room,  watching  the  lights 
sink  to  shadows,  the  shadows  sink  to  darkness,  until  her 
impatience  to  know  what  had  transpired  in  the  garden 
could  no  longer  be  controlled.  She  passed  round  the 
shrubbery,  unlatched  the  garden-door,  and  skimmed  with 
her  keen  eyes  the  whole  twilighted  space  that  the  four 
walls  enclosed  and  sheltered :  they  were  not  there.  She 
mounted  a  little  ladder,  which  had  been  used  for  gathering 
fruit,  and  looked  over  the  wall  into  the  field.  This  field 
extended  to  the  limits  of  the  glebe,  which  was  enclosed  on 
that  side  by  a  privet-hedge.  Under  the  hedge  was  Mr. 
Swancourt,  walking  up  and  down,  and  talking  aloud — ■ 
to  himself,  as  it  sounded  at  first.  No  :  another  voice 
shouted  occasional  replies  ;  and  this  interlocutor  seemed 
to  be  on  the  other  side  of  the  hedge.  The  voice,  though 
soft  in  quality,  was  not  Stephen's. 

The  speaker  must  have  been  in  the  long-neglected 
garden  of  an  old  manor-house  hard  by,  which,  together 
with  a  small  estate  attached,  had  lately  been  purchased  by 
a  person  named  Troyton,  whom  Elfride  had  never  seen. 
Her  father  might  have  struck  up  an  acquaintanceship  with 
some  member  of  that  family  through  the  privet-hedge,  or  a 
stranger  to  the  neighborhood  might  have  wandered  thither. 

Weil,  there  was  no  necessity  for  disturbing  him.  And 
it  seemed  that,  after  all,  Stephen  had  not  yet  made  his 
desired  communication  to  her  father.  Again  she  went 
in-doors,  wondering  where  Stephen  could  be.  For  want 
of  something  better  to  do,  she  went  up  stairs  to  her  own 
little  room.  Here  she  sat  down  at  the  open  window,  and, 
leaning  with  her  elbow  on  the  table  and  her  cheek  upon 
her  hand,  she  fell  into  meditation. 

It  was  a  hot  and  still  August  night.  Every  disturbance 
of  the  silence  which  rose  to  the  dignity  of  a  noise  could  be 
heard  for  miles,  and  the  merest  sound  for  a  long  distance. 
So  she  remained,  thinking  of  Stephen,  and  wishing  he  had 
not  deprived  her  of  his  company  to  no  purpose,  as  it  ap- 
peared. How  delicate  and  sensitive  he  was,  she  retiected  ; 
and  yet  he  was  man  enough  to  have  a  private  myster}', 
which  considerably  elevated  him  in  her  eyes.     Thus,  look 


A  FAIR  01^"  BLUE  EYES.  69 

ing  at  things  with  an  inward  vision,  she  lost  consciousness 
of  the  flight  of  time. 

Strange  conjunctions  of  circumstances,  particularly  those 
of  a  trivial  every-day  kind,  are  so  frequent  in  an  ordinary 
life,  that  we  grow  used  to  their  unaccountableness,  and  for- 
get the  question  whether  the  very  long  odds  against  such 
juxtaposition  is  not  almost  a  disproof  of  it  being  a  matter 
of  change  at  all.  What  occurred  to  Elfride  at  this  moment 
was  a  case  in  point.  She  was  vividly  imagining,  for  the 
twentieth  time,  the  kiss  of  the  morning,  and  putting  her  lips 
together  in  the  position  another  such  a  one  would  demand, 
when  she  heard  the  identical  operation  completely  perform- 
ed on  the  lawn,  immediately  beneath  her  window. 

A  kiss — not  of  the  quiet  and  stealthy  kind,  but  decisive, 
loud,  and  smart. 

Her  face  flushed,  and  she  looked  out,  but  to  no  purpose. 
The  dark  rim  of  the  upland  drew  a  keen  sad  line  against 
the  pale  glow  of  the  sky,  unbroken  except  where  a  younf 
cedar  on  the  lawn,  that  had  outgrown  its  fellow  tree.- 
shot  its  pointed  head  across  the  horizon,  piercing  the  firm.-a 
mental  lustre  like  a  sting. 

It  was  just  possible  that,  had  any  persons  been  standing 
on  the  grassy  portions  of  the  lawn,  Elfride  might  have' seen 
their  dusky  forms.  But  the  shrubs,  which  once  had  merely 
dotted  the  glade,  had  now  grown  bushy  and  large,  tiU  they 
hid  at  least  half  the  enclosure  containing  them.  The  kiss- 
ing pair  might  have  been  behind  some  of  these  ;  at  any 
rate,  nobody  was  in  sight 

Had  no  enigma  ever  been  connected  with  her  lover  by 
his  hints  and  absences,  Elfride  would  never  have  thought 
of  admitting  into  her  mind  a  suspicion  that  he  might  be 
concerned  in  the'  foregoing  enactment.  But  the  reservations 
he  at  present  insisted  on,  while  they  added  to  the  mysterr 
without  which  perhaps  she  would  never  have  seriously  lovea 
him  at  all,  were  calculated  to  nourish  doubts  of  all  kinds, 
and  with  a  slow  flush  of  jealousy  she  asked  herself,  might 
he  not  be  the  culprit  ? 

Elfride  glided  down  stairs  on  tip-toe,  and  out  to  the 
precise  spot  un  which  she  had  parted  from  Stephen  to  ena- 
ble him  to  speak  privately  to  her  father.  Thence  she  wan- 
dered into  all    the   nooks   around  the  place  from  which  the 


JO  A  FAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

sound   seemed   to   proceed — among  the   huge   laurestins 

about  the  tufts  of  pampas-grasses,  amid  the  variegated  hoi 
lies,  under  the  weeping  wych-elm — nobody  was  there 
Returning  in-doors  she  called,  "  Unity." 

"  She  has  gone  to  her  aunt's  to  spend  the  evening,"  said 
Mr.  Swancourt,  thrusting  his  head  out  of  his  study-door, 
and  letting  the  light  of  his  candles  stream  upon  Elfride's 
face — less  revealing  ihan,  as  it  seemed  to  herself,  creating 
the  blush  of  uneasy  perplexity  that  was  burning  upon  her 
cheeli. 

"  I  didn't  knov/  you  were  in-doors,  papa,"  she  said,  with 
surprise.  "  Surely  no  light  was  shining  from  the  window 
when  I  was  on  the  lawn .?  "  and  she  looked  and  saw  that  the 
shutters  were  still  open. 

"  O,  yes,  I  am  in,"  he  said  indifferently.  "  What  did 
you  want  Unity  for  ?  I  think  she  laid  supper  before  she 
went  out." 

"  Did  she  ? — I  have  not  been  to  see-~I  didn't  want  her 
for  that." 

Elfride  scarcely  knew,  now  that  a  definitive  reason  was 
required,  what  that  reason  was.  Her  mind  for  a  moment 
strayed  to  another  subject,  unimportant  as  it  seemed.  The 
red  ember  of  a  match  was  lying  inside  the  fender,  which 
explained  that  why  she  had  seen  no  rays  from  the  window 
was  because  the  candles  had  only  just  been  lighted. 

"  I'll  come  directly,"  said  the  vicar.  "  I  thought  you 
were  out  somewhere  with  Mr.  Smith." 

Even  the  inexperienced  Elfride  could  not  help  thinking 
that  her  father  must  be  wonderfully  blind  if  he  failed  to 
perceive  what  was  the  nascent  consequence  of  herself  and 
Stephen  being  so  unceremoniously  left  together ;  wonder- 
fully careless,  if  he  saw  it  and  did  not  think  about  it  3 
wonderfully  good,  if,  as  seemed  to  her  by  far  the  most  prob- 
able supposition,  he  saw  it  and  thought  about  it  and 
approved  of  it.  These  reflections  were  cut  short  by  the 
appearance  of  Stephen  just  outside  the  porch,  silvered 
about  the  head  and  shoulders  with  touches  of  moonlight, 
that  had  begun  to  creep  through  the  trees. 

"  Has  your  trouble  anything  to  do  with  a  kiss  on  the 
lawn  ?  "  she  asked  abruptly,  almost  passionately. 

"  Kiss  on  the  lawn  ? " 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  7 1 

"Yes,"  she  said,  imperiously  now. 

"  I  didn't  comprehend  your  meaning,  nor  do  I  now 
exactly.  I  certainly  have  kissed  nobody  on  the  lawn,  if 
that  is  really  what  you  want  to  know,  Elfride." 

"  You  know  nothing  about  such  a  performance  ?  " 

"  Nothing  whatever.     What  makes  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Don't  press  me  to  tell ;  it  is  nothing  of  importance. 
And,  Stephen,  you  have  not  yet  spoken  to  papa  about  our 
engagement  ? " 

'*  No,"  he  said  regretfully,  "  I  could  not  find  him  direct- 
ly ;  and  then  I  went  on  thinking  so  much  of  what  you  said 
about  objections,  refusals — bitter  words  possibly — ending 
our  happiness,  that  I  resolved  to  put  it  off  till  to-morrow  \ 
that  gives  us  one  more  day  of  delight — delight  of  a  tremu- 
lous kind." 

"  Yes  ;  but  it  would  be  improper  to  be  silent  too  long, 
I  think,"  she  said,  in  a  delicate  voice,  which  implied  that 
her  face  had  grown  warm.  "  I  want  him  to  know  we  love, 
Stephen.  Why  did  you  adopt  as  your  own  my  thought  of 
delay?" 

*'  I  will  explain  ;  but  I  want  to  tell  you  of  my  secret 
first — to  tell  you  now.  It  is  two  or  three  hours  yet  to  bed- 
time.    Let  us  walk  up  the  hill  to  the  church." 

Elfride  passively  assented,  and  they  went  from  the  lawn 
by  a  side  wicket,  and  ascended  into  the  open  expanse  of 
moonlight  which  streamed  around  the  lonely  edifice  on  the 
summit  of  the  hill. 

The  door  was  locked.  They  turned  from  the  porch, 
and  walked  hand  in  hand  to  find  a  resting-place  in  the 
churchyard.  Stephen  chose  a  flat  tomb,  showing  itself  to 
be  newer  and  whiter  than  those  around  it,  and  sitting  down 
himself,  gently  drew  her  hand  towards  him. 

"  No,  not  there,"  she  said. 

"  Why  not  here  .?  " 

"  A  mere  fancy  ;  but  never  mind."     And  she  sat  down. 

"  Elfie,  will  you  love  me,  in  spite  of  everything  that  may 
be  said  against  me  ?  " 

"  O,  Stephen,  what  makes  you  repeat  that  so  continual- 
ly and  so  sadly  ?  You  know  I  will.  Yes,  indeed,"  she  said, 
drawing  closer,  "  whatever  may  be  said  of  you — and  noth- 


72 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


ing  bad  can  be — I  will  cling  to  you  just  the  same.     Yom 
ways  shall  be  my  ways  until  T.  die." 

"  Did  you  ever  think  what  my  parents  might  be,  or 
what  society  I  originally  moved  in  t " 

"  No,  not  particularly.  I  have  observed  one  or  two  lit- 
tle points  in  your  manners  which  are  rather  quaint— no 
more.  I  suppose  you  have  moved  in  the  ordinary  society 
of  professional  people." 

"  Supposing  I  have  not — that  none  of  my  family  have  a 
profession  except  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mind.     What  you  are  only  concerns  me." 

*'  Where  do  you  think  I  went  to  school — I  mean,  to  what 
kind  of  school } " 

"  Doctor  Somebody's  academy,"  she  said  simply. 

"  No.  To  a  dame  school  originally,  then  to  a  national 
school." 

"  Only  to  those  !  Well,  I  love  you  just  as  much,  Ste 
phen,  dear  Stephen,"  she  murmured  tenderly,  "  I  do  indeed. 
And  why  should  you  tell  me  these  things  so  impressively  ^ 
What  do  they  matter  to  me  1 " 

He  held  her  closer,  and  proceeded. 

"  What  do  you  think  my  father  is — does  for  nis  living, 
that  is  to  say  ?  " 

"  He  practices  some  profession  or  calling,  I  suppose." 

"  No  ;  he  is  a  mason." 

"  A  Freemason  ?  " 

"  No  ;  a  cottager  and  journeyman  mason." 

Elfride  said  nothing  at  first.  After  a  while  she  whis- 
pered : 

"  That  is  a  strange  idea  to  me.  But  never  mind  ;  what 
does  it  matter? " 

"  But  aren't  you  angry  with  me  for  not  telling  you  be- 
fore ? " 

"  No,  not  at  all.     Is  your  mother  alive  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Is  she  a  nice  lady  ? " 

"  Very — the  best  motlier  in  the  world.  She  was  a  dai- 
rymaid." 

"  O,  Stephen  ?  "  came  from  her  in  whispered  exclamation. 

"  She  continued  to  attend  to  a  dairy  long  after  my 
Vather  married  her,"  pursued  Stephen,  without  further  hesi- 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  73 

tation.  *'  And  I  remember  very  well  how,  when  I  was  very 
young,  I  used  to  go  to  the  milking,  look  on  at  the  skim- 
ming, sleep  through  the  churning,  and  make  believe  1  help- 
ed her.     Ah,  that  was  a  happy  time  enough  !  " 

"  No,  never — not  happy." 

"  Yes,  it  was." 

"  I  don't  see  how  happiness  could  be  where  the  drudg- 
ery of  dairy-work  had  to  be  done  for  a  hving — the  hands 

red  and  chapped,  and  the  shoes  clogged Stephen, 

I  do  own  that  it  seems  odd  to  regard  you  in  the  light  of — 
of — having  been  so  rough  in  your  youth,  and  done  menial 
things  of  that  kind."  (Stephen  withdrew  an  inch  or  two 
from  her  side.)  "  But  1  do  love  you  just  the  same,"  she  con- 
tinued, getting  close  under  his  shoulder  again,  "  and  I 
don't  care  anything  about  the  past ;  and  I  see  that  you  are 
all  the  worthier  for  having  pushed  on  in  the  world  in  such 
a  way." 

'•  It  is  not  my  worthiness;  it  is  Knight's  who  pushed 
me." 

"  Ah,  always  him — always  him  !  " 

"  Yes,  and  properly  so.  Now,  Elfride,  you  see  the  rea- 
son of  his  teaching  me  by  letter.  1  knew  him  years  before 
he  went  to  Oxford,  but  I  had  not  got  far  enough  in  my  read- 
ing for  him  to  entertain  the  idea  of  helping  me  in  classics 
till  he  left  home.  Then  I  was  sent  away  from  the  village, 
and  we  very  seldom  met ;  but  he  kept  up  this  system  of  tu- 
ition by  correspondence  with  the  greatest  regularity.  I  will 
tell  you  all  the  story,  but  not  now.  There  is  nothing  more 
to  say  now,  beyond  giving  places,  persons,  and  dates." 
His  voice  became  timidly  slow  at  this  point, 

"  No  ;  don't  trouble  to  say  more.  You  are  a  dear  hon- 
est fellow  to  say  so  much  as  you  have  ;  and  it  is  not  so  dread- 
ful either.  We  hear  of  lots  of  London  millionaires  who  went 
up  to  London  with  their  tools  at  their  back,  and  half  a 
crown  in  their  pockets.  That  sort  of  origin  is  getting  so 
respected,"  she  continued  cheerfully,  "  that  it  is  acquiring 
some  of  the  odor  of  Norman  ancestry." 

"  Ah,  if  I  had  made  my  fortune  I  shouldn't  raind.  But 
I  am  only  a  possible  maker  of  it  as  yet." 

"  It  is  quiie  enough.  And  so  this  is  what  your  trouble 
was  ? " 


74 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES. 


"  I  thought  I  was  doing  wrong  in  letting  you  love  me 
without  telling  my  story ;  and  yet  I  feared  to  do  so,  Elfie. 
I  dreaded  to  lose  you,  and  I  was  cowardly  on  that  account." 

"  How  plain  everything  about  you  seems  after  this  ex- 
planation !  Your  peculiarities  in  chess-playing,  the  pro- 
nunciation papa  noticed  in  your  Latin,  your  odd  mixture 
of  book-knowledge  with  ignorance  of  ordinary  social  ac- 
complishments, are  accounted  for  in  a  moment.  And  has 
this  anything  to  do  with  what  I  saw  at  Lord  Luxellian's  ? " 

"  What  did  you  see  ? " 

"  I  saw  the  shadow  of  yourself  putting  a  cloak  round  a 
lady.  I  was  at  the  side  door  ;  you  two  were  in  a  room  with 
the  window  towards  me.  You  came  to  me  a  moment 
later." 

"  She  was  my  mother.'* 

"Your  mother  (here!  I  have  been  imagining  her  and 
your  father  living  far  away." 

"  Elfride,"  said  Stephen,  "  I  was  going  to  tell  you  the 
remainder  to-morrow — [  have  been  keeping  it  back — I 
must  tell  it  now,  after  all.  The  remainder  of  my  revelation 
refers  to  where  my  parents  are.  Where  do  you  think  they 
live  ?     You  know  them — by  sight  at  any  rate." 

"/  know  them  !  "  she  cried,  in  unbounded  amazement, 

"  Yes.  My  father  is  John  Smith,  Lord  Luxellian's 
master-mason,  who  lives  under  the  park  wall  by  the  river." 

"  O,  Stephen,  can  it  be  !  " 

"  He  built — or  assisted  at  the  building  of  the  house  you 
live  in,  years  ago.  He  put  up  those  stone  gate  piers  at  the 
lodge-entrance  to  Lord  Luxellian's  park.  My  grandfather 
planted  the  trees  that  belt-in  your  lawn  ;  my  grandmother 
— who  worked  in  the  fields  with  him- -held  each  tree  up- 
right while  he  filled  in  the  earth  :  they  told  me  so  when  I 
was  a  child.  He  was  the  sexton,  too,  and  dug  many  of  the 
graves  around  us." 

"  And  was  your  unaccountable  vanishing  on  the  first 
morning  of  your  arrival,  and  again  this  afternoon,  a  run  to 
see  your  father  and  mother }  I  understand  now  ;  no  won- 
der you  seemed  to  know  the  way  about  the  village  !  " 

"  No  wonder.  But  remember,  I  have  not  lived  here 
since  I  was  nine  years  old.  I  then  went  to  live  with  my 
uncle,  a  blacksmith  near   Exeter,  in  order  to  be  able  to  at- 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  75 

terijd  a  national  school  as  a  day  scholar  ;  there  was  none  in 
this  remote  part  then.  It  was  there  I  met  with  my  friend 
Knight.  And  when  I  was  fifteen  and  had  been  fairly  edu- 
cated by  the  schoolmaster — and  more  particularly  by 
Knight — I  was  put  as  a  pupil  in  an  architect's  office  in 
that  city,  because  I  was  skilful  in  the  use  of  the  pencil. 
This  was  done,  partly  by  the  efforts  of  Knight,  and  partly 
through  the  interest  of  Lord  Luxellian,  who  likes  my  father, 
and  thinks  a  great  deal  of  him.  There  I  staid  till  six 
months  ago,  when  I  obtained  a  situation  as  improver,  as  it 
is  called,  in  a  London  office.     That's  all  of  me." 

"To  think  you,  the  London  visitor,  the  town  man, 
should  have  been  born  here,  and  have  known  this  village 
so  many  years  before  I  did.  How  strange — how  very 
strange  it  seems  to  me  !  " 

"  My  mother  curtseyed  to  you  and  your  father  last  Sun- 
day," said  Stephen,  with  a  pained  smile  at  the  thought  of 
the  incongruity.  *'And  your  papa  said  to  her,  T  am  glad 
to  see  you  so  regular  at  church,  Jmie.''  " 

"  I  remember  it.  But  I  have  nevej  spoken  to  her. 
We  have  only  been  here  eighteen  months,  and  the  parish 
is  so  large." 

"  Contrast  with  this,"  said  Stephen,  with  a  miserable 
laugh,  "  your  father's  belief  in  my  *  blue  blood,'  which  is 
still  prevalent  in  his  mind.  The  first  night  I  came,  he  in- 
sisted upon  proving  my  descent  from  one  of  the  most 
ancient  west-county  families,  on  account  of  my  second 
Christian  name  ;  when  the  truth  is,  it  was  given  me  be- 
cause ray  grandfather  was  assistant-gardener  in  the  Fitz- 
maurice  Smith  family  for  thirty  years.  Having  seen  your 
face,  my  darling,  I  had  not  heart  to  contradict  him,  and 
tell  what  would  have  cut  me  off  from  a  friendly  knowledge 
of  you." 

She  sighed  deeply.  "Yes,  I  see  now  how  this  in- 
equality may  be  made  a  trouble  to  us,"  she  murmured, 
and  continued  in  a  low  sad  whisper,  "  I  wouldn't  have 
minded  if  they  had  lived  far  away.  Papa  might  have  con- 
sented to  an  engagement  between  us  if  your  connection 
had  been  with  villagers  a  hundred  miles  off;  remoteness 
softens  family  contrasts.  But  he  will  not  like — Q 
Stephen,  Stephen  !  what  can  1  do  ?" 


76  ^  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

"  Do  ?  "  he  said  tentatively,  yet  with  sadness.  "  Give 
me  up  ;  let  me  go  back  to  London,  and  think  no  more  of 
me." 

"  No,  no  ;  I  cannot  give  you  up  !  This  hopelessness 
in  our  affairs  makes  me  care  more  for  you.  ...  I  see  what 
did  not  strike  me  at  first  Stephen,  why  do  we  trouble  ? 
Why  should  papa  object  ?  An  architect  m  London  is  an 
architect  in  London.  Who  inquires  there  .'*  Nobody. 
We  shall  live  there,  shall  we  not?  Why  need  we  be  so 
alarmed  ?  " 

"And,  Elfie,"  said  Stephen,  his  hopes  kindling  with 
hers,  "  Knight  thinks  nothing  of  my  being  only  a  cot- 
tager's son.  He  says  I  am  as  worthy  of  his  friendship  as 
if  I  were  a  lord's.  And  if  I  am  worthy  of  his  friendship,  I 
am  worthy  of  you,  am  I  not,  Elfride  .?  " 

"  I  not  only  have  never  loved  anybody  but  you,"  she 
said,  instead  of  giving  an  answer,  "  but  1  have  not  even 
formed  a  strong  friendship,  such  as  you  have  for  Knight. 
I  wish  you  hadn't." 

"Now,  Elfride,  you  know  better,"  he  said  wooingly. 
"And  did  you  really  never  have  any  sweetheart  at  all?" 

"  None  that  was  ever  recognized  by  me  as  such." 

"  But  did  nobody  ever  love  you  ?  " 

'*  Yes — a  man  did  once  ;  very  much,  he  said." 

"  How  long  ago  ?  " 

"O,  a  long  time." 

"  How  long,  dearest  ?  " 

"A  twelvemonth." 

"That's  not  very  long." 

"I  said  long,  not  very  long." 

"  And  did  he  want  to  marry  you  ? " 

"  I  believe  he  did.  But  I  didn't  see  anything  in  him. 
He  was  not  good  enough,  even  if  I  had  loved  him." 

"  May  I  ask  what  he  was  ?  " 

"  A  farmer." 

"  A  farmer  not  good  enough — how  much  better  than 
my  family  !  "  Stephen  murmured. 

"  Where  is  he  now  ?  "  he  continued  to  Elfride. 

"  Here  J' 

"  Here  !     What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"  i  mean  that  he  is  here." 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


77 


"  Where  here  ? '' 

"  Under  us.  He  is  under  this  tomb.  He  is  dead, 
and  we  are  sitting  on  his  grave." 

"  Elfie,"  said  the  young  man,  standing  up  and  moving 
away,  "  how  solemn  and  sad  that  revelation  seems  !  It 
quite  depresses  me  for  the  moment." 

"  Stephen,  I  didn't  wish  to  sit  here  ;  but  you  would  do 
so." 

"  You  never  encouraged  him  ?  " 

"  Never  by  look,  word,  or  sign,"  she  said  solemnly. 
"  He  died  of  consumption,  and  was  buried  the  day  you 
first  came." 

''  Let  us  go  away.  I  don't  like  standing  hy. him,  even 
if  you  never  loved  him.     He  was  before  me." 

"  Love  makes  you  unreasonable,"  she  murmured,  fol- 
lowing Stephen  at  the  distance  of  a  few  steps.  "  Perhaps 
I  ought  t3  have  told  you  before  we  sat  down.  Yes  ;  let 
us  go." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

**  HER   FATHER   DID   FUME.'' 

OPPRESSED,  in  spite  of  themselves,  by  a  foresight 
of  impending  complications,  Elfride  and  Stephen 
returned  down  the  hill  hand  in  hand.  At  the  door  they 
paused  wistfully,  Hke  children  late  at  school. 

Women  accept  their  destiny  more  readily  than  men. 
Elfride  had  now  resigned  herself  to  the  overwhelming  idea 
of  her  lover's  sorry  antecedents ;  Stephen  had  not  forgot- 
ten the  trifling  grievance  that  Elfride  had  known  earlier 
admiration  than  his  own. 

"  What  was  that  young  man's  name  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  Jethway  ;  a  widow's  only  son." 

"  I  remember  the  family." 

"  She  hates  me  now.     She  says  I  killed  him." 

Stephen  mused,  and  they  entered  the  porch. 

*'  Stephen,  I  only  love  you,"  she  tremulously  whispered. 

•He  pressed  her  fingers,  and  the  trifling  shadow  passed 
away,  to  admit  again  the  mutual  and  more  tangible  trouble. 

The  study  appeared  to  be  the  only  room  lighted  up. 
They  entered,  each  with  a  demeanor  intended  to  conceal 
the  unconcealable  fact  that  reciprocal  love  was  the  dominant 
chord.  Elfride  perceived  a  man,  sitting  with  his  back  to- 
wards herself,  talking  to  her  father.  She  would  have 
retired,  but  Mr.  Swancourt  had  seen  her. 

"Come  in,"  he  said;  "it  is  only  Martin  Cannister, 
come  for  a  copy  of  the  register  for  poor  Mrs.  Jethway." 

Martin  Cannister,  the  sexton,  was  rather  a  favorite  with 
Elfride.  He  used  to  absorb  her  attention  by  telling  her  of 
his  strange  experiences  in  digging  up  after  long  years  the 
bodies  of  persons  he  had  known,  and  recognizing  them  by 
some  little  sign,  though  in  reality  he  had  never  recognized 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  -9 

any.  He  had  shrewd  small  eyes,  "ivl  a  great  wealth  of 
double  chin,  which  compensated  iv,  ^ome  measure  for  con- 
siderable poverty  of  nose. 

The  appearance  of  a  slip  of  paper  in  Cannister's  hand, 
and  some  shillings  lying  on  the  table  in  front  of  him, 
denoted  that  the  business  had  been  transacted,  and  the 
tenor  of  their  conversation  went  to  show  that  a  summary 
of  village  news  was  now  engaging  the  attention  of  parish- 
ioner and  parson. 

Mr.  Cannister  stood  up  and  touched  his  forehead  over 
his  eye  with  his  finger,  in  respectful  salutation  of  Elfride, 
gave  half  as  much  salute  to  Stephen  (whom  he,  in  common 
with  other  villagers,  had  never  for  a  moment  recognized), 
then  sat  down  again  and  resumed  his  discourse. 

"  Where  had  I  got  on  to,  sir.? " 

"  To  driving  the  pile,"  said  Mr.  Swancourt. 

"  The  pile  'twas.  So,  as  1  was  saying,  Nat  was  driving 
the  pile  in  this  manner,  as  I  might  say."  Here  Mr.  Can- 
nister held  his  walking-stick  scrupulously  vertical  with  his 
left  hand,  and  struck  a  blov/  with  great  force  on  the  knob 
of  the  stick  with  his  right.  "  John  was  steadying  the  pile 
so,  as  I  might  say."  Here  he  gave  the  stick  a  slight  shake, 
and  looked  firmly  in  the  various  eyes  around  to  see  that 
before  proceeding  further  his  listeners  well  grasped  the 
subject  at  that  stage.  "Well,  when  Nat  had  struck  some 
half-dozen  blows  more  upon  the  pile,  'a  stopped  for  a 
second  or  two.  John,  thinking  he  had  done  striking,  put 
his  hand  upon  the  top  o'  the  pile  to  gie  en  a  pull,  and  see 
if  'a  were  firm  in  the  ground."  Mr.  Cannister  spread  his 
hand  over  the  top  of  the  stick,  completely  covering  it  with 
his  palm.  "  Well,  so  to  speak,  Nat  hadn't  maned  to  stop 
striking,  and  when  John  had  put  his  hand  upon  the  pile, 
the  beetle — " 

"  O,  dreadful  !  "  said  Elfride. 

"The  beetle  was  already  coming  down,  you  see,  sir. 
Nat  just  caught  sight  of  his  hand,  but  couldn't  stop  the 
blow  in  time.  Down  came  the  beetle  upon  poor  John 
Smith's  hand,  and  squashed  en  to  a  pummy." 

"  Dear  me,  dear  me  !  poor  fellow  !  "  said  the  vicar,  with 
an  intonation  like  the  Groans  of  the  Wounded  in  a  piano 
forte  performance  of  the  '  Battle  of  Prague.* 


go  A   PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

"John  Smith  the  master-mason?"  cried  Stephen  hur- 
riedly. 

"  Ay,  no  other ;  and  a  better-hearted  man  God  A'mighty 
never  made." 

"  Is  he  so  much  hurt  ?  " 

"I  have  heard,"  said  Mr.  Svvancourt,  not  noticing  Ste- 
phen, "  that  he  has  a  son  in  London — a  very  promising 
young  fellow — who  has  been  helped  forward  a  little  by 
Lord  Luxellian." 

"Is  he  really  so  much  hurt?"  repeated  Stephen.' 

"  A  beetle  couldn't  hurt  very  little.  Well,  sir,  good- 
night t'  ye ;  and  ye,  sir  ;  and  you,  miss,  I'm  sure/' 

Mr.  Cannister  had  been  making  unnoticeable  motions 
of  withdrawal,  and  by  the  time  this  farewell  remark  came 
from  his  lips  he  was  just  outside  the  door  of  the  room. 
He  tramped  along  the  hall,  staid  more  than  a  minute 
endeavoring  to  close  the  door  properly,  and  then  was  lost 
to  their  hearing. 

Stephen  had  meanwhile  turned  and  said  to  the  vicar : 

"  Please  excuse  me  this  evening.  I  must  leave.  John 
Smith  is  my  father." 

The  rector  did  not  comprehend  at  first- 

"  What  did  you  say  ? "  he  inquired. 

"  John  Smith  is  my  father,'-  said  Stephen  deliberately. 

A  surplus  tinge  of  redness  rose  from  Mr.  Swancourt's 
neck  and  came  round  over  his  face,  the  lines  of  his  features 
became  more  firmly  defined,  and  his  lips  seemed  to  get 
thinner.  It  was  evident  that  a  series  of  little  circumstan- 
ces, hitherto  unheeded,  were  now  fitting  themselves  together, 
and  forming  a  lucid  picture  in  Mr.  Swancourt's  mind  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  render  useless  farther  explanation  on 
Stephen's  part. 

"  Indeed,"  the  vicar  said,  in  a  voice  dry  and  without  in- 
flection. 

This  being  a  word  which  depends  entirely  upon  its  tone 
for  its  meaning,  Mr.  Swancourt's  enunciation  was  equivalent 
to  no  expression  at  all. 

"  I  have  to  go  now,"  said  Stephen,  with  an  agitated  bear- 
ing, and  a  movement  as  if  he  scarcely  knew  whether  he 
ought  to  run  off  or  stay  longer.  "On  my  return,  sir,  will 
you  kindly  grant  me  a  few  minutes'  private  conversation.-"' 


A   PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  8  I 

"  Certainly.  Though  antecedently  it  does  not  seem  pos- 
sible that  there  can  be  anything  of  the  nature  of  private  busi- 
ness between  us." 

Mr.  Swancourt  put  on  his  straw  hat,  crossed  the  draw- 
ing-room, into  which  the  moonlight  was  shining,  and  stepped 
out  of  the  French  windov/  into  the  verandah.  It  required 
no  farther  effort  to  perceive  what,  indeed,  reasoning  might 
have  foretold  as  the  natural  color  of  a  mind  whose  pleasures 
were  taken  amid  genealogies,  good  dinners,  and  patrician 
reminiscences,  that  Mr.  Swancourt's  prejudices  were  too 
strong  for  his  generosity,  and  that  Stephen's  moments  as 
friend  and  equal  were  numbered,  or  had  even  now  ceased. 

Stephen  moved  forward  as  if  he  would  follow  the  vicar, 
then  as  if  he  would  not,  and  in  absolute  perplexity  whither 
to  turn  himself,  went  awkwardly  to  the  door.  Elfride  fol- 
lowed lingeringly  behind  him.  Before  he  had  receded  two 
yards  from  the  doorstep,  Unity,  and  Ann  the  housemaid, 
came  home  from  their  visit  to  the  village. 

"  Have  you  heard  anything  about  John  Smith  ?  The 
accident  is  not  so  bad  as  was  reported,  is  it  ? "  said  Elfride 
intuitively. 

"  O,  no  j  the  doctor  say  it  is  only  a  bad  bruise." 

"  I  thought  so  ! "  cried  Elfride  gladly. 

"  He  say  that,  although  Nat  believe  he  did  not  check 
the  beetle  as  it  came  down,  he  must  have  done  so  without 
knowing  it — checked  it  very  considerable  too  ;  for  the  full 
blow  would  have  knocked  his  hand  abroad,  and  in  reality 
it  is  only  made  black-and-blue  like. 
,        "  How  thankful  I  am  !  "  said  Stephen. 

The  perplexed  Unity  looked  at  him  with  her  mouth 
rather  than  with  her  eyes. 

"  That  will  do,  Unity,"  said  Elfride  magisterially ;  and 
the  two  maids  passed  on. 

•' Elfride,  do  you  forgive  me?"  said  Stephen,  with  a 
faint  smile.  "No  man  is  fair  in  love;"  and  he  took  her 
fingers  lightly  in  his  own. 

With  her  head  thrown  sideways  in  the  Greuze  attitude, 
she  looked  a  tender  reproach  at  his  doubt,  and  pressed  his 
hand.  Stephen  returned  the  pressure  threefold,  then  hasti- 
ly went  off  to  his  father's  cottage  by  the  wall  of  Endelstow 
Park. 


32  ^  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

"  Elfride,  what  have  you  to  say  to  this  ?  "  inquired  her 
father,  coming  up  immediately  Stephen  had  retired. 

With  feminine  quickness  she  grasped  at  any  straw  that 
would  enable  her  to  plead  his  cause.  "  He  had  told  me  of 
it,"  she  faltered  ;  "  so  that  it  is  not  a  discovery  in  spite  of 
him.     He  was  just  coming  in  to  tell  you." 

"  Coming  to  tell !  Why  hadn't  he  already  told  t  I  ob- 
ject as  much,  if  not  more,  to  his  underhand  concealment 
of  this,  than  I  do  to  the  fact  itself  It  looks  very  much 
like  his  making  a  fool  of  me,  and  of  you  too.  You  and  he 
have  been  about  together,  and  corresponding  together  in  a 
way  I  don't  at  all  approve  of— in  a  most  unseemly  way. 
You  should  have  known  how  improper  such  conduct  is.  A 
woman  can't  be  too  careful  not  to  be  seen  alone  with  I  don't 
mow  who." 

"  You  saw  us,  papa,  and  have  never  said  a  word." 
"  My  fault,  of  course  ;  my  fault.  What  the  deuce  could 
I  be  thinking  of.  He,  a  villager's  son  ;  and  we,  S  wancourts. 
We  have  been  coming  to  nothing  for  centuries,  and  now  I 
believe  we  have  got  there.  What  shall  I  next  invite  here,  I 
wonder!" 

Elfride  began  to  cry  at  this  very  unpropitious  aspect  of 
affairs.  "  O  papa,  papa,  forgive  me  and  him.  We  care  so 
much  for  one  another,  papa— O,  so  much  !  And  what  he 
was  going  to  ask  you  is,  if  you  will  allow  of  an  engagement 
between  us  till  he  is  a  gendeman  as  good  as  you.  We  are 
not  in  a  hurry,  dear  papa ;  we  don't  want  in  the  least  to 
marry  now ;  not  until  he  is  richer.  Only  will  you  let  us  be 
engaged,  because  I  love  him  so,  and  he  loves  me  !  " 

Mr.  Swancourt's  feelings  were  a  little  touched  by  this 
appeal,  and  he  was  annoyed  that  such  should  be  the  case. 
"Certainly  not!"  he  replied.  He  pronounced  the  inhibi- 
tion lengthily  and  sonorously,  so  that  the  "  not "  sounded  like 
"  n-o-o-o-t !  " 

*'  No,  no,  no  ;  don't  say  it ! " 

"  Foh  !  A  fine  story.  It  is  not  enough  that  I  have 
been  deluded  and  disgraced  by  having  him  here — the  son  of 
one  of  my  village  peasants— but  now  I  am  to  make  him  my 
son-in-law  !  Heavens  above  us,  are  you  mad,  Elfride  .?  "  ^ 
"  You  have  seen  his  letters  come  to  me  ever  since  his 
first  visit,  papa,  and  you  knew  ihey  were  a  sort  of~love  let- 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  83 

ters  ;  and  since  he  has  been  here  you  have  let  him  be  alone 
with  me  almost  entirely  ;  and  you  guessed,  you  must  have 
guessed,  what  we  were  thinking  of,  and  doing,  and  you  didn't 
stop  him.  Next  to  love-making  comes  love-winning,  and 
you  knew  it  would  come  to  that,  papa." 

The  vicar  parried  this  common-sense  thrust.  "  I  know 
— since  you  press  me  so — I  know  I  did  guess  some  childish 
attachment  might  arise  between  you  ;  I  own  I  did  not  take 
much  trouble  to  prevent  it,  but  I  have  not  particularly  coun- 
tenanced it ;  and,  Elfride,  how  can  you  expect  that  I  should 
now  ;  It  is  impossible ;  no  father  in  England  would  hear 
of  such  a  thing." 

"  But  he  is  the  same  man,  papa;  the  same  in  every  par- 
ticular, and  how  can  he  be  less  fit  for  me  than  he  was  be- 
fore?" 

"  He  appeared  a  young  man  with  well-to-do  friends,  and 
a  little  property  ;  but  having  neither,  he  is  another  man." 

"You  inquired  nothing  about  him?  " 

"  I  went  by  Hewby's  introduction.  He  should  have  told 
me.  So  should  the  young  man  himself;  of  course  he  should. 
I  consider  it  a  most  dishonorable  thing  to  come  into  a  man's 
house  Uke  a  treacherous  I  don't  know  what." 

"  But  he  was  afraid  to  tell  you,  and  so  should  I  have 
been.  He  loved  me  too  well  to  like  to  run  the  risk.  And 
as  to  speaking  of  his  friends,  on  his  first  visit,  I  don't  see 
why  he  should  have  done  so  at  all.  He  came  here  on  busi- 
ness :  it  was  no  affair  of  ours  who  his  parents  were.  And 
then  he  knew  that  if  he  told  you  he  would  never  be  asked 
here,  and  would  perhaps  never  see  me  again.  And  he 
wanted  to  see  me.  Who  can  blame  him  for  trying,  by  any 
means,  to  stay  near  me — the  girl  he  loves  ?  All  is  fair  in  love. 
I  have  heard  you  say  so  yourself,  papa  ;  and  you  yourself 
would  have  done  just  as  he  has — so  would  any  man." 

"  And  any  man,  on  discovering  what  I  have  discovered, 
would  also  do  as  I  do,  and  mend  my  mistake  ;  that  is,  get 
shot  of  him  again,  as  soon  as  the  laws  of  hospitality  will 
allow."  But  Mr.  Swancourt  then  remembered  he  was  a 
Christian.  "  1  would  not,  for  the  world,  seem  to  turn  him 
out  of  doors,"  he  added ;  "  but  I  think  he  will  have  the 
tact  to  see  that  he  cannot  stay  ^ong  after  this  with  good 
taste." 


84 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES. 


"  He  will,  because  he's  a  gentleman.  See  how  graceful 
his  manners  are,"  Elfride  went  on  ;  though  perhaps  Ste- 
phen's manners,  like  the  feats  of  Euryalus,  owed  their 
attractiveness  in  her  eyes  rather  to  the  attractiveness  of  his 
person  than  to  their  own  excellence. 

"  Ay  ;  anybody  can  be  what  you  call  graceful,  if  he 
lives  a  little  time  in  a  city,  and  keeps  his  eyes  open.  And 
he  might  have  picked  up  his  gentlemanliness  by  going  to 
the  galleries  of  theatres,  and  watching  stage  drawing-room 
manners.  He  reminds  me  of  one  of  the  worst  stories  I 
ever  heard  in  my  life." 

"  What  story  was  that  ? " 

"  O  no,  no !  I  wouldn't  tell  you  such  an  improper  mat- 
ter for  the  world!" 

"  If  his  father  and  mother  had  lived  in  the  north  or 
east  of  England,"  gallantly  persisted  Elfride,  though  her 
sobs  began  to  interrupt  her  articulation,  "  anywhere  but 
here — you  —  would  have  —  only  regarded  —  him^  and  not 
them.  His  station — would  have — been  what — his  profes- 
sion makes  it,— and  not  fixed  by — his  father's  humble  posi- 
tion— at  all ;  whom  he  never  lives  with — now.  And  it  is 
clever  and — honorable — of  him,  to  be  the  best  of  his  family." 

"  Yes.  '  Let  a  beast  be  lord  of  beasts,  and  his  crib 
shall  stand  at  the  king's  mess.' " 

"  You  insult  me,  papa !  "  she  burst  out.  "  You  do,  you 
do  !     He  is  my  own  Stephen,  he  is  ! " 

"  That  may  or  may  not  be  true,  Elfride,"  returned  her 
father,  again  uncomfortably  agitated  in  spite  of  himself. 
"  You  confuse  future  probabilities  with  present  facts, — 
what  the  young  man  may  be  with  what  he  is.  We  must 
look  at  what  he  is,  not  what  an  improbable  degree  of  suc- 
cess in  his  profession  may  make  him.  The  case  is  this  : 
the  son  of  a  working-man  in  my  parish— a  youth  who  has 
not  yet  advanced  so  far  into  life  as  to  have  any  income  of 
his  own  deserving  the  name,  and  therefore  of  his  father's 
degree  as  regards  station — wants  to  be  engaged  to  you. 
His  family  are  living  in  precisely  the  same  spot  in  England 
as  yours,  so  throughout  this  county — which  is  the  world  to 
us — you  would  always  be  known  as  the  wife  of  Jack  Smith 
the  mason's  son,  and  not  under  any  circumstances  as  the 
ivife  of  a  London  professional  man.     It  is  the  drawback, 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  85 

not  the  compensating  fact,  that  is  talked  of  always.  There, 
say  no  more.  You  may  argue  all  night,  and  prove  what 
you  will  ;  I'll  stick  to  my  words." 

Elfride  looked  silently  and  hopelessly  out  of  the  win- 
dow with  large  heavy  eyes  and  wet  cheeks. 

"  I  call  it  great  temerity — and  long  to  call  it  audacity — 
in  Hewby,"  resumed  her  father.  "1  never  heard  such  a 
thing — giving  such  a  hobbledehoy  native  of  this  place  such 
an  introduction  to  me  as  he  did.  Naturally  you  were 
deceived  as  well  as  I  was.  I  don't  blame  you  at  all,  so 
far."  He  went  and  searched  for  Mr.  Hewby's  original 
letter.  "  Here's  what  he  said  to  me :  '  Rev.  Sir, — Agree- 
ably to  your  request  of  the  i8th  instant,  I  have  arranged  to 
survey  and  make  drawings,'  et  caetera.  '  My  assistant, 
Mr.  Stephen  Smith' — assistant,  you  see,  he  called  him,  and 
naturally  I  understood  it  to  mean  a  sort  of  partner.  Why 
didn't  he  say  'clerk.?'" 

"  They  never  call  them  clerks  in  that  profession,  be- 
cause they  do  not  write.  Stephen — Mr.  Smith — told  me 
so.     So  that  Mr.  Hewby  simply  used  the  accepted  word." 

"  Let  me  speak,  please,  Elfride  !  '  My  assistant,  Mr. 
Stephen  Smith,  will  leave  London  by  the  early  train  to- 
morrow morning  .  .  .  uiany  thanks  for  your  proposal  to 
accommodate  hhn  .  .  .  you  may  put  every  confidence  in  him, 
and  may  rely  upon  his  discernment  in  the  matter  of  church 
architecture.'  Well,  I  repeat  that  Hewby  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  himself  for  making  so  much  of  a  poor  lad  of 
that  sort." 

"  Professional  men  in  London,"  Elfride  murmured, 
"  don't  know  anything  about  their  clerks'  fathers  and 
mothers.  They  have  assistants  who  come  to  their  offices 
and  shops  for  years,  and  hardly  even  know  where  they  live. 
What  they  can  do — what  profits  they  can  bring  the  firm — 
that's  all  London  men  care  about.  And  that  is  helped  in 
him  by  his  faculty  of  being  uniformly  pleasant." 

"  Uniform  pleasantness  is  rather  a  defect  than  a  faculty. 
ft  shows  that  a  man  hasn't  sense  enough  to  know  whom  to 
despise.^ 

''  It  shows  that  he  acts  by  faith  and  not  by  sight,  as 
those  you  claim  succession  from  directed." 

"  That's  some  more  of  what  he's   been   telling  you,  I 


86  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

suppose.  Yes,  I  was  inclined  to  suspect  him,  because  he 
didn't  care  about  sauces  of  any  kind.  1  always  did  doubt 
a  man's  being  a  gentleman  if  his  palate  had  no  acquired 
tastes.  An  unedified  palate  is  the  irrepressible  cloven  foot 
of  the  upstart.  The  idea  of  my  bringing  out  a  bottle  of 
my  '40  Martinez — only  eleven  of  them  left  now — to  a  man 
who  didn't  know  it  from  eighteen-penny  !  Then  the  Latin 
line  he  gave  to  end  my  quotation  ;  it  was  very  cut-and- 
dried,  very ;  or  I,  who  haven't  looked  into  a  classical 
author  for  the  last  eighteen  years,  shouldn't  have  remem- 
bered it.  Well,  Elfride,  you  had  better  go  to  your  room  ; 
you'll  get  over  this  bit  of  tomfoolery  in  time." 

"  No,  no,  no,  papa,"  she  moaned.  For  of  all  the  mis- 
eries attaching  to  miserable  love,  the  worst  is  the  misery 
of  thinking  that  the  passion  which  is  the  cause  of  them  all 
may  cease. 

"  Elfride,"  said  her  father,  with  rough  friendliness,  "  I 
have  an  excellent  scheme  on  hand,  which  I  cannot  tell 
you  of  now.  A  scheme  to  benefit  you  and  me.  It  has 
been  thrust  upon  me  for  some  little  time — yes,  thrust  upon 
me — but  I  didn't  dream  of  its  value  till  this  afternoon, 
when  the  revelation  came.  I  should  be  most  unwise  to 
refuse  to  entertain  it." 

"  [  don't  like  that  word,"  she  returned  wearily.  "  You 
have  lost  so  much  already  by  schemes.  Is  it  those  wretch- 
ed mines  again  ? " 

"  No  ;  not  a  mining  scheme." 

"  Railways  ?  " 

"Nor  railways.  It  is  like  those  mysterious  offers  we 
see  advertised,  by  which  any  gentleman  with  no  brains 
at  all  may  make  so  much  a  week  without  risk,  trouble,  or 
soiling  his  fingers.  However,  I  am  intending  to  say  noth- 
ing till  it  is  settled,  though  I  will  just  say  thus  much,  that 
you  soon  may  have  other  fish  to  fry  than  to  think  of  Ste- 
phen Smith.  Remember,  I  have  no  wish  to  be  angry,  but 
friendly,  to  the  young  man ;  for  your  sake  I'll  regard  him 
as  a  friend  in  a  certain  sense.  But  this  is  enough  ;  in  a 
few  days  you  will  be  quite  my  way  of  thinking.  There, 
now  go  to  your  bedroom.  Unity  shall  bring  you  up  some 
supper.     I  wish  you  not  to  be  here  when  he  comes  back." 


CHAPTER  X. 

"BENEATH  THE  SHELTER  OF  AN  AGED  TREE.'' 

STEPHEN  retraced  his  steps  towards  the  cottage  he 
had  visited  only  two  or  three  hours  previously.  He 
drew  near  and  under  the  rich  foliage  growing  about  the 
outskirts  of  Endelstow  Park,  the  spotty  lights  and  shades 
from  the  shining  moon  maintaining  a  race  over  his  head 
and  down  his  back  in  an  endless  gambol.  When  he 
crossed  the  plank  bridge  and  entered  the  garden-gate,  he 
saw  an  illuminated  figure  coming  from  the  enclosed  plot 
towards  the  house  on  the  other  side.  It  was  his  father, 
with  his  hand  in  a  sling,  taking  a  general  moonlight  view 
of  the  garden,  and  particularly  of  a  plot  of  the  youngest  of 
young  turnips,  previous  to  closing  the  cottage  for  the  night. 

He  saluted  his  son  with  customary  force.  "  Hallo,  Ste- 
phen !  We  should  ha'  been  in  bed  in  another  ten  minutes. 
Come  to  see  what's  the  matter  wi'  me,  I  suppose,  my 
lad  ? " 

The  doctor  had  been  and  gone,  and  the  hand  hnd  been 
pronounced  as  injured  but  slightly,  though  it  would  of 
course  have  been  considered  a  far  more  serious  case  if  Mr, 
Smith  had  been  a  richer  man.  Stephen's  anxious  inquiry 
drew  forth  expressions  of  regret  at  the  inconvenience  that 
would  be  occasioned  by  doing  nothing  for  the  next  two 
days,  rather  than  of  concern  for  the  pain  of  the  accident. 
Together  they  entered  the  house. 

John  Smith — brown  as  autumn  as  to  skin,  white  as 
winter  as  to  clothes — was  a  satisfactory  specimen  of  the 
village  artificer  in  stone.  In  common  with  most  rural 
mechanics,  he  had  too  much  individuality  to  be  a  typical 
"workingman" — the  resultant  from  that  constant  pjibble- 
\ike  attrition  with  his  kind,  only  to  be  experienced  in  huge 


^3  ^   PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

towns,  which  metamorphoses  the  unit  Self  into  a  decimal 
fraction  of  the  unit  Class. 

There  was  not  the  specialty  in  his  labor  which  distin- 
guishes the  handicraftsmen  of  towns.  Though  only  a  ma- 
son, strictly  speaking,  he  was  not  above  handling  a  brick, 
if  bricks  were  the  order  of  the  day  ;  or  a  slate  or  tile,  if  a 
roof  had  to  be  covered  before  the  wet  weather  set  in,  and 
nobody  was  near  who  could  do  it  better.  Indeed,  on  one 
or  two  occasions  in  the  depth  of  winter,  when  frost  peremp- 
torily forbids  all  use  of  the  trowel,  making  foundations  to 
settle,  stones  to  fly,  and  mortar  to  crumble,  he  had  taken 
to  felling  and  sawing  trees.  Moreover,  he  had  practiced 
gardening  in  his  own  plot  for  so  many  years,  that  on  an 
emergency  he  might  have  made  a  living  by  that  calling. 

Probably  the  countryman  was  not  such  an  accom- 
plished artificer  in  a  particular  direction  as  his  town  breth- 
ren in  the  trades.  But  he  was,  in  truth,  like  the  clumsy 
pin-maker  who  made  the  whole  pin,  despised  by  Adam 
Smith  and  respected  by  Macaulay,  much  more  the  artist 
than  they. 

Appearing  now  in-doors,  by  the  light  of  the  candle,  his 
stalwart  healthiness  \\as  a  sight  to  see.  His  beard  was 
ciose  and  knotted  as  that  of  a  chiselled  Hercules  ;  his 
shirt-sleeves  were  partly  rolled  up,  his  waistcoat  unbutton- 
ed ;  the  difference  in  hue  between  the  snowy  linen  and  the 
ruddy  arms  and  face  contrasting  like  the  white  of  an  ^g% 
and  its  yolk.  Mrs.  Smith,  on  hearing  them  enter,  advanced 
from  the  pantry. 

Mrs.  Smith  was  a  matron  whose  countenance  addressed 
itself  to  the  mind  rather  than  to  the  eye,  though  not  exclu- 
sively. She  retained  her  personal  freshness  even  now,  in 
the  prosy  afternoon-time  of  her  life  ;  but  what  her  features 
were  primarily  indicative  of  was  a  sound  common  sense  be- 
hind them  ;  and  as  a  whole,  she  appeared  to  carry  with  her 
a  sort  of  argumentative  commentary  on  her  own  existence. 

The  details  of  the  accident  were  then  rehearsed  by 
Stephen's  father,  in  the  dramatic  manner  also  common  to 
Martin  Cannister,  other  individuals  of  the  neighborhood, 
and  the  rural  world  generally.  Mrs.  Smith  threw  in  her 
sentiments  between  the  acts,  as  Coryphaeus  of  the  tragedy, 
to  make  the  description  complete.     The  story  at  last  came 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  Sc) 

to  an  end,  as  the  longest  will,  and  Stephen  directed  the 
conversation  into  another  channel. 

"  Well,  mother,  they  know  everything  about  me  now,'' 
he  said   quietly. 

"  Well  done  !  "  replied  his  father  ;  "  now  my  mind's  ai 
peace." 

"  1  blame  myself — I  never  shall  forgive  myself— for  not 
telling  them  before,"  continued  the  young  man. 

Mrs.  Smith  at  this  point  abstracted  her  mind  frcm  the 
former  subject.  "  I  don't  see  what  you  have  to  grieve  about, 
Stephen,"  she  said.  "  People  who  accidentally  get  thick 
don't,  as  a  first  heat,  tell  the  history  of  their  families." 

"  Ye've  done  no  wrong,  certainly,"  said  his  father. 

"  No  ;  but  I  should  have  spoken  sooner.  There's  more 
m  this  visit  of  mine  than  you  think — a  good  deal  more." 

"  Not  more  than  /  think,"  Mrs.  Smith  replied,  looking 
triumphantly  at  him.  Stephen  blushed  ;  and  his  father 
fooked  from  one  to  the  other  in  a  state  of  utter  incompre- 
hension, 

"  She's  a  pretty  piece  enough,"  Mrs.  Smith  continued, 
'*  and  very  lady-like  and  clever  too.  But  though  she's  very 
well  fit  for  you  as  far  as  that  is,  vJiy,  mercy  'pon  me,  what 
ever  do  you  want  any  woman  at  all  for  yet .''  " 

John  made  his  naturally  sliort  mouth  a  long  one,  and 
wrinkled  his  forehead.  "  That's  the  way  the  wind  d'blow, 
is  it  .-*  "  he  said. 

"  Mother,"  exclaimed  Stephen,  "  how  absurdly  you 
speak !  Criticising  whether  she's  fit  for  me  or  no,  as  if 
there  were  room  for  doubt  on  the  matter  !  Why,  to  marry 
her  would  be  the  great  blessing  of  my  life — socially  and 
practically,  as  well  as  in  other  respects.  No  such  good  for- 
tune as  that,  I'm -afraid  ;  she's  too  far  above  me.  Her  fami- 
ly doesn't  want  such  country  lads  as  1  in  it." 

''  Then  if  they  don't  want  you,  I'd  see  them  dead  corpses 
before  I'd  jine  'em,  and  go  to  better  families  who  do  want 
you." 

'•  Ah,  yes  ;  but  1  could  never  put  up  with  the  distaste 
of  being  welcomed  among  such  people  as  you  mean,  while 
I  could  get  indifference  among  such  people  as  hers." 

"  What  crazy  twist  o'  thinking  woot  come  to  next  ?  "  said 
bis  mother.     *'  And  come  to  that,  she's  not  a  bit  too  high 


QQ  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

for  you,  or  you  too  low  for  her.  See  how  careful  T  be  to 
keep  myself  up.  I'm  sure  I  never  stop  for  more  than  a 
minule  together  to  talk  to  any  journeyman's  people  ;  and  I 
never  invite  anybody  to  our  party  o'  Christmases  who 
baint  in  business  for  themselves.  And  I  talk  to  several 
toppermost  carriage  people  that  come  to  my  lord's  without 
saying  mem  or  sir  to  'em,  and  they  take  it  as  quiet  as 
lambs." 

"  You  curtseyed  to  the  vicar,  mother  ;  and  I  wish  you 
hadn't." 

"  But  it  was  before  he  called  me  by  my  Christian  name, 
or  he  would  have  got  very  little  curtseying  from  me  !  "  said 
Mrs.  Smith,  bridling  and  sparkling  with  vexation.  "  You 
go  on  at  me,  Stephen,  as  if  I  were  your  worst  enemy  ! 
What  else  could  I  do  wi'  the  man  to  get  rid  of  him,  banging 
it  into  me  and  your  father  by  side  and  by  seam,  about  what 
happened  when  he  was  a  young  fellow  at  college,  and  I 
don't  know  what-all ;  the  tongue  o'en  flopping  round  his 
mouth  like  a  mop-rag  round  a  dairy.  That  'a  did,  didn'  the, 
John  .? " 

"  That's  about  the  size  o't,'  replied  her  husband. 
"  Every  woman  now-a-days,"  resumed  Mrs.   Smith,  "  if 
she  marry  at  all,  must  expect  a  father-in-law  of  a  rank  lower 
than  her  father.     The  men  have  gone  up  so,  and  the  women 
have  stood  still.     Every  man  you  meet  is  more  the  dand 
than  his  father ;  and  you  are  just  level  wi'  her." 
"  That's  what  she  thinks  herself" 
"  It  only  shows  her  sense.     I  knew  she  was  after  ye, 
Stephen." 

*'  After  me  !     Good  gracious,  what  next !  " 
"  And  I  really  must  say  again  that  you  ought  not  to  be 
in  such  a  hurry,  and  wai*-  for  a  few  years.      You  might  go 
higher  still  then." 

"  The  fact  is,  mother,"  said  Stephen  impatiently,  "  you 
don't  know  anything  about  it.  I  shall  never  go  higher, 
because  I  don't  want  to,  nor  should  I  if  I  lived  to  be  a 
hundred.  As  to  you  saying  that  she's  after  me,  I  don't 
like  such  a  remark  about  her,  for  it  implies  a  scheming 
woman,  and  a  man  worth  scheming  for,  both  of  which  are 
not  only  untrue,  but  ludicrously  untrue,  of  this  case.  Isn't 
it  so,  father  ?  " 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES.  g  l 

"I'm  afeared  I  don't  understand  the  matter  well 
enough  to  gie  my  opinion,"  said  his  father,  in  the  tone  of 
the  fox  who  had  a  cold  and  could  not  smell. 

"  She  couldn't  have  been  very  backward  anyhow,  con- 
sidering the  short  time  you  have  known  her,"  said  his 
mother.  "Well,  I  think  that  five  years  hence  you'll  be 
plenty  young  enough  to  think  of  such  things.  And  really 
she  can  very  well  afford  to  wait,  and  will  too,  take  my 
word.  Living  down  in  an  out-step  place  like  this,  I  am 
sure  she  ought  to  be  very  thankful  that  you  took  notice  of 
her.  She'd  most  likely  have  died  an  old  maid  if  you 
hadn't  turned  up." 

"  All  nonsense,"  said  Stephen,  but  not  aloud. 
"  A  nice  little  thing  she  is,"  Mrs.  Smith  went  on,  in  a 
more  complaisant  tone,  now  that  Stephen  had  been  talked 
down  ;  "  there's  not  a  word  to  say  against  her,  I'll  own. 
I  see  her  sometimes  decked  out  like  a  horse  going  to  Bin- 
egar  fair,  and  I  admire  her  for't.  A  perfect  little  lady. 
But  people  can't  help  their  thoughts,  and  if  she'd  learnt  to 
make  figures  instead  of  letters  when  she  was  at  school, 
'twould  have  been  better  for  her  pocket ;  for  as  I  said, 
there  never  were  worse  times  for  such  as  she  than  now." 

"  Now,  now,  mother,"  said  Stephen,  with  smiling  dep- 
recation. 

"  But  T  will,"  said  his  mother,  with  asperity.  "  I  don't 
read  the  papers  for  nothing,  and  I  know  men  all  move  up 
a  stage  by  marriage.  Men  of  her  class,  that  is,  parsons, 
marry  squires'  daughters  ;  squires  marry  lords'  daughters  ; 
lords  marry  dukes'  daughters;  dukes  marry  queens' 
daughters.  All  stages  of  gentlemen  mate  a  stage  higher ; 
and  the  lowest  stage  of  gentlewomen  are  left  single,  or 
marry  out  of  their  class." 

"But  you  said  just  now,  dear  mamma — "  retorted 
Stephen,  unable  to  resist  the  temptation  of  showing  his 
mother  her  inconsistency.     Then  he  paused. 

"  Well,  what  did  I  say  ?  "  And  Mrs.  Smith  prepared 
her  hps  for  a  new  campaign. 

"  Stephen,  regretting  that  he  had  begun,  since  a  vol- 
cano might  be  the  consequence,  was  obliged  to  go  on. 
"  You  said  I  wasn't  out  of  her  class  just  before." 
*'  Yes,  there,  there  !     That's  you  ;  that's  my  own  flesh 


C)2  ^   PAIR  OF  BLUE  RYES. 

and  blood.  I'll  warrant  that  you'll  pick  holes  in  every- 
thing your  mother  says  if  you  can,  Stephen.  You  are  just 
lil<e  your  father  for  that  ;  take  anybody's  part  but  mine. 
While  I  am  speaking  and  talking  and  trying  and  slaving 
away  for  your  good,  you  are  waiting  to  catch  me  out  in 
that  way.  So  you  are  in  her  class,  but  'tis  what  her  peo- 
ple would  call  marrying  out  of  her  class.  Don't  be  so 
quarrelsome,  Stephen  !  '\ 

Stephen  preserved  a  discreet  silence,  in  which  he  was 
imitated  by  his  father,  and  for  several  minutes  nothing  was 
heard  but  the  ticking  of  the  green-faced  case-clock  against 
the  wall. 

"  I'm  sure,"  added  Mrs.  Smith,  in  a  more  philosophic 
tone,  and  as  a  terminative  speech,  "if  there'd  been  so 
much  trouble  to  get  a  husband  in  my  time  as  there  is  in 
these  days — when  you  must  make  a  god-a'-mighty  of  a 
man  to  get  en  to  hae  ye — I'd  have  eat  dirt  wi'  a  ladle 
before  I'd  ever  have  lowered  my  dignity  to  marry,  or 
there's  no  bread  in  nine  loaves." 

The  discussion  now  dropped,  and  as  it  was  getting 
late,  Stephen  bade  his  parents  farewell  for  the  evening, 
his  mother  none  the  less  warmly  for  their  sparring ;  for 
although  Mrs.  Smith  and  Stephen  were  always  contend- 
ing, they  were  never  at  enmity. 

"And  possibly,"  said  Stephen,  "I  may  leave  here 
altogether  to-morrow  ;  I  don't  know.  So  that  if  I  shouldn't 
call  again  before  returning  to  London,  don't  be  alarmed, 
will  you  ? " 

"  But  didn't  you  come  for  a  fortnight  ? "  said  his 
mother.  "  And  haven't  you  a  month's  holiday  altogether  ? 
They  are  going  to  turn  you  out,  then  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  I  may  stay  longer  ;  I  may  go.  If  I  go, 
you  had  better  say  nothing  about  my  having  been  here,  for 
her  sake.  At  what  time  of  the  morning  does  the  carrier 
pass  Endelstow-lane  ? " 

"  Seven  o'clock." 

And  then  he  left  them.  His  thoughts  were,  that 
should  the  vicar  permit  him  to  become  engaged,  to  hope 
for  an  engagement,  or  in  any  way  to  think  of  his  beloved 
Elfride,  he  might  stay  longer.  Should  he  be  forbidden  to 
think  of  any  such  thing,  he  resolved  to  go  at  once.     And 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  93 

the  latter,  even  to  young  hopefulness,  seemed  the  more 
probable  alternative. 

Stephen  walked  back  to  the  vicarage  through  the 
meadows,  as  he  had  come,  surrounded  by  the  soft  musical 
purl  of  the  water  through  little  weirs,  the  modest  light  of 
the  moon,  the  freshening  smell  of  the  dews  outspread 
around.  It  was  a  time  when  mere  seeing  is  meditation, 
and  meditation  peace.  Stephen  was  hardly  philosopher 
enough  to  avail  himself  of  Nature's  offer.  His  constitu- 
tion was  made  up  of  very  simple  particulars ;  one  which, 
rare  in  the  spring-time  of  civilizations,  seems  to  grow 
abundant  as  a  nation  gets  older,  individuality  fades,  and 
education  spreads;  that  is,  his  brain  had  extraordinary 
receptive  powers,  and  not  an  atom  of  creativeness. 
Quickly  acquiring  any  kind  of  knowledge  he  saw  around 
him,  and  having  a  plastic  adaptability  more  common  in 
woman  than  in  man,  he  changed  color  like  a  chameleon  as 
the  society  he  found  himself  in  assumed  a  higher  and 
more  artificial  tone.  He  had  not  an  original  idea,  and  yet 
there  was  scarcely  an  idea  to  which,  under  proper  train- 
ing, he  could  not  have  added  a  respectable  correlative. 

He  saw  nothing  outside  himself  to-night ;  and  what  he 
saw  within  was  a  weariness  to  his  flesh.  Yet  to  a  dispas- 
sionate observer,  his  pretentions  to  Elfride,  though  rather 
premature,  were  far  from  absurd,  as  marriages  go,  unless 
the  accidental  proximity  of  poor  but  honest  parents  could 
be  said  to  make  them  so. 

The  clock  struck  eleven  when  he  entered  the  house. 
Elfride  had  been  waiting  with  scarcely  a  movement  since 
he  had  left.  Before  he  had  spoken  to  her  she  caught 
sight  of  him  passing  into  the  study  Vv^ith  her  father.  She 
saw  that  he  had  by  some  means  obtained  the  private  in- 
terview he  desired. 

A  nervous  headache  had  been  growing  on  the  excita- 
ble girl  during  the  absence  of  Stephen,  and  now  she  could 
do  nothing  beyond  going  up  again  to  her  room  as  she  had 
done  before.  Instead  of  lying  down,  she  sat  again  in  the 
darkness  without  closing  the  door,  and  listened  with  a 
beating  heart  to  every  sound  from  down  stairs.  The  ser- 
vants had  gone  to  bed.  She  ultimately  heard  the  two 
men  come  from  the  study  and  cross  to  the  dining-rooni, 


94  ^  PA^R  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

where  supper  had  been  lingering  for  more  than  an  hour. 
The  door  was  left  open,  and  she  found  that  the  meal,  such 
as  it  was,  passed  off  between  her  father  and  her  lover  with- 
out any  remark,  save  commonplaces  as  to  cucumbers  and 
melons,  their  wholesomeness  and  culture,  uttered  in  a  stiff 
and  formal  way.     It  seemed  to  prefigure  failure. 

Shortly  afterwards  Stephen  came  up  stairs  to  his  bed- 
room, and  was  almost  immediately  followed  by  her  father, 
who  also  retired  for  the  night.  Not  inclined  to  get  a  light, 
she  partly  undressed  and  sat  on  the  bed,  where  she  re- 
mained in  pained  thought  for  some  time,  possibly  an  hour. 
Then  rising  to  close  her  door  previous  to  fully  unrobing, 
she  saw  a  streak  of  light  shining  across  the  landing.  Her 
father's  door  was  closed,  and  he  could  be  heard  snoring 
regularly.  The  light  came  from  Stephen's  room,  and  the 
slight  sounds  also  coming  thence  emphatically  denoted 
what  he  was  doing.  In  the  perfect  silence  she  could  hear 
the  closing  of  a  lid  and  the  clicking  of  a  lock — he  was  fas 
tening  his  hat-box.  Then  the  buckling  of  straps  and  the 
click  of  another  key, — that  was  from  his  portmanteau. 
With  trebled  foreboding  she  opened  her  door  softly,  and 
went  towards  his.  One  sensation  pervaded  her  to  distrac- 
tion. Stephen,  her  handsome  youth  and  darling,  was  going 
away,  and  she  might  never  see  him  again  except  in  secret 
and  in  sadness — perhaps  never  more.  At  any  rate,  she 
could  no  longer  wait  till  the  morning  to  hear  the  result  of 
the  interview,  as  she  had  intended.  She  flung  her  dressing- 
gown  around  her,  tapped  lightly  at  his  door,  and  whispeied, 
"  Stephen  ! " 

He  came  instantly,  opened  the  door  and  stepped  out. 

"  Tell  me  ;  are  we  to  hope  1  " 
-     He  replied  in  a  broken  whisper,  and  a  tear  approached 
its  outlet,  though  none  fell. 

"  I  am  not  to  think  of  such  a  preposterous  thing — that's 
what  he  said.  And  I  am  going  to-morrow.  I  should  have 
called  you  up  to  bid  you  good-bye." 

"  But  he  didn't  say  you  were  to  go — O,  Stephen,  he 
didn't  say  that?" 

"  No  j  not  in  words.     But  I  cannot  stay." 

"O,  don't,  don't  go!     Do  come  and  let  us  talk.     Let 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


95 


us  come  down  to  the  drawing-room  for  a  few  minutes ;  he 
will  hear  us  here." 

She  preceded  him  down  the  staircase  with  the  taper 
light  in  her  hand,  looking  unnaturally  tall  and  thin  in  the 
long  dove-colored  dressing-gown  she  wore.  She  did  not 
stop  to  think  of  the  propriety  or  otherwise  of  this  midnight 
interviev>^  under  such  circumstances.  She  thought  that 
the  tragedy  of  her  life  was  beginning,  and,  for  the  first 
time  almost,  felt  that  her  existence  might  have  a  grave 
side,  the  shade  of  which  enveloped  and  rendered  invisible 
the  delicate  gradations  of  custom  and  punctilio.  Elfride 
softly  opened  the  drawing-room  door  and  they  both  went 
in.  When  she  had  placed  the  candle  on  the  table,  he 
enclosed  her  with  his  arms,  dried  her  eyes  with  his  hand- 
kerchief, and  kissed  their  lids. 

"  Stephen,  it  is  over — happy  love  is  over  ;  and  there  is 
no  more  sunshine  now !  " 

"  I  will  make  a  fortune,  and  come  to  you,  and  have  you. 
Yes,  I  will." 

'*  Papa  will  never  hear  of  it — never,  never !  You  don't 
know  him.  I  do.  He  is  either  biased  in  favor  of  a  thing, 
or  prejudiced  against  it.  Argument  is  powerless  against 
either  feeling." 

"  No  ;  I  won't  think  of  him  so,"  said  Stephen.  "  If  I 
appear  before  him  some  time  hence  as  a  man  of  established 
name,  he  will  accept  me — I  know  he  will.  He  is  not  a 
wicked  man." 

"No;  he  is  not  wicked.  But  you  say  *some  time 
hence,'  as  if  it  were  no  time.  To  you,  among  bustle  and 
excitements,  it  will  be  comparatively  a  short  time  perhaps ; 
O,  to  me  it  will  be  its  real  length  trebled !  Every  summer 
will  be  a  year — autumn  a  year — winter  a  year !  O,  Stephen ; 
and  you  may  forget  me  !  " 

Forget :  that  was,  and  is,  the  real  sting  of  waiting  to 
mimosa-hearted  woman.  The  remark  awoke  in  Stephen 
the  converse  fear.  "You  too  may  be  persuaded  to  give 
me  up,  when  time  has  made  me  fainter  in  your  memory. 
For  remember,  your  love  for  me  must  be  nourished  in 
secret ;  there  will  be  no  long  visits  from  me  to  support  you. 
Circumstances  will  always  tend  to  obliterate  me." 

"  Stephen,"  she  said,  filled  with  her  own  misgivings, 


96 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES. 


and  unheeding  his  last  words,  '  there  are  beautiful  women 
where  you  live — of  course  I  know  there  are — and  they  may 
win  you  away  from  me."  Her  tears  came  visibly  as  she 
drew  a  mental  picture  of  his  faithlessness.  "  And  it  won't 
be  your  fault,"  she  continued,  looking  into  the  candle  with 
doleful  eyes.  "  No.  You  will  think  that  our  family  don't 
want  you,  and  get  to  include  me  with  them.  And  there 
will  be  a  vacancy  in  your  heart,  and  some  ethers  will  be  let 
in." 

"  I  could  not,  I  would  not.  Elfie,  do  not  be  so  full  of 
forebodings." 

"  O,  yes,  they  will,"  she  replied.  "  And  you  will  look 
at  them,  not  caring  at  first,  and  then  you  will  look  and  be 
interested,  and  after  a  while  you  will  think,  '  Ah,  they  know 
all  about  city  life,  and  assemblies,  and  coteries,  and  the 
manners  of  the  titled,  and  poor  little  Elfie,  with  all  the  fuss 
that's  made  about  her  having  me,  doesn't  know  about  any- 
thing but  a  little  house  and  a  few  cliffs  and  a  space  of  sea, 
far  away.'  And  then  you'll  be  more  interested  in  them, 
and  they'll  make  you  have  them  instead  of  me,  on  purpose 
to  be  cruel  to  me  because  I  am  silly,  and  they  are  clever 
and  hate  me.     And  I  hate  them  too  ;  yes,  I  do  !  " 

Her  impulsive  words  had  power  to  impress  him  at  any 
rate  with  the  recognition  of  the  uncertainty  ot  all  that  is 
not  accomplished.  And,  worse  than  that  general  feeling, 
there  of  course  remained  the  sadness  which  arose  from  the 
special  features  of  his  own  case.  However  remote  a 
desired  issue  may  be,  the  mere  fact  of  having  entered  the 
groove  which  leads  to  it,  cheers  to  some  extent  with  a  sense 
of  accomplishment.  Had  Mr.  Swancourt  consented  to  an 
engagement  of  no  less  length  than  ten  years,  Stephen 
would  have  been  comparatively  cheerful  in  waiting  ;  they 
would  have  felt  that  they  were  somewhere  on  the  road  to 
Cupid's  garden.  But,  with  a  possibility  of  a  shorter- proba- 
tion, they  had  not  as  yet  any  prospect  of  a  beginning  ; 
the  zero  of  hope  had  yet  to  be  reached.  Mr.  Swan- 
court  would  have  to  revoke  his  formidable  words  before 
the  waiting  for  marriage  could  even  set  in.  And  this  was 
despair. 

''  I  wish  we  could  marry  now,"  murmured  Stephen,  a« 
an  impossible  fancy. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  97 

"  So  do  1/  said  she,  also,  as  if  regarding  an  idle  dream. 
"  *Tis  the  only  thing  that  ever  does  sweet-hearts  good." 

*'  Secretly  would  do,  would  it  not,  Elfie?  " 

"  Yes,  secretly  would  do ;  secretly  would  indeed  be  the 
best,"  she  said,  and  went  on  reflectively :  "  All  we  want  is 
to  render  it  absolutely  impossible  for  any  future  circum- 
stance to  upset  our  future  intention  of  being  happy  together ; 
not  to  begin  being  happy  now." 

"  Exactly,"  he  murmured,  in  a  voice  and  manner  the 
counterpart  of  hers.  "  To  marry  and  part  secretly,  and  live 
on  as  we  are  living  now ;  merely  to  put  it  out  of  anybody's 
power  to  force  you  away  from  me,  dearest." 

"  Or  you  away  from  me,  Stephen." 

"  Or  me  from  you.  It  is  possible  to  conceive  a  force 
of  circumstance  strong  enough  to  make  any  woman  in  the 
world  marry  against  her  will :  no  conceivable  pressure,  up  to 
torture  or  starvation,  can  make  a  woman  once  married  to 
her  lover  anybody  else's  wife." 

Now  up  to  this  point  the  idea  of  an  immediate  secret 
marriage  had  been  held  by  both  as  an  untenable  hypothesis 
wherewith  simply  to  beguile  a  miserable  moment.  During 
a  pause  which  followed  Stephen's  last  remark  a  fascinating 
perception,  then  an  alluring  conviction,  flashed  along  the 
brain  of  both.  The  perception  was  that  an  immediate  mar- 
riage could  be  contrived  ;  the  conviction  that  such  an  act,  in 
spite  of  its  daring,  its  fathomless  results,  its  deceptiveness, 
would  be  preferred  by  each  to  the  life  they  must  lead  under 
any  other  conditions. 

The  youth  spoke  first,  and  his  voice  trembled  with  the 
magnitude  of  the  conception  he  was  cherishing.  "  How 
strong  we  should  feel,  Elfride !  going  on  our  separate 
courses  as  before,  without  the  fear  of  ultimate  separation  1 
O,  Elfride,  think  of  it ;  think  of  it !  " 

It  is  certain  that  the  young  girl's  love  for  Stephen  re- 
ceived a  fanning  from  her  father's  opposition  which  made 
it  blaze  with  a  dozen  times  the  intensity  it  would  have  regis- 
tered if  left  alone.  Never  were  conditions  more  favorable 
for  developing  a  girl's  first  passing  fancy  for  a  handsome 
boyish  face — a  fancy  rooted  in  inexperience  and  nourished 
by  seclusion — into  a  wild  unreflecting  passion  fervid  enough 
for  anything.     All  the  elements  of  such  a  development  were 


98 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


there,  the  chief  one  being  hopelessness — a  necessary  ingre- 
dient always  to  perfect  the  mixture  of  feelings  united  under 
the  name  of  loving  to  distraction. 

"  We  would  tell  papa  soon,  would  we  not  ?  "  she  inquired 
timidly.  "  Nobody  else  need  know.  He  would  then  be 
convinced  that  hearts  cannot  be  played  with  ;  love  encour- 
aged be  ready  to  grow,  love  discouraged  be  ready  to  die, 
at  a  moment's  notice.  Stephen,  do  you  not  think  that  if 
marriages  against  a  parent's  consent  are  ever  justifiable, 
they  are  when  young  people  have  been  favored  up  to  a 
point,  as  we  have,  and  then  have  had  that  favor  suddenly 
withdrawn  ? " 

"  Yes.  It  is  not  as  if  we  had  from  the  beginning  acted  in 
opposition  to  your  papa's  wishes.  Only  think,  Elfie,  how 
pleasant  he  was  towards  me  but  six  hours  ago  !  He  liked 
me,  praised  me,  never  objected  to  my  being  alone  with  you." 

"  I  believe  he  must  like  you  now,"  she  cried.  "  And  if 
he  found  that  you  irremediably  belonged  to  me,  he  would 
own  it,  and  help  you.  O,  Stephen,  Stephen,"  she  burst  out 
again,  as  the  remembrance  of  his  packing  came  afresh  to 
her  mind,  "  I  cannot  bear  you  going  away  like  this  !  It  is 
too  dreadful.  All  I  have  been  expecting  miserably  killed 
within  me  like  this  !  " 

Stephen  flushed  hot  with  impulse.  "  I  will  not  be  a 
doubt  to  you — thought  of  you  shall  not  be  a  misery  to  me  !  " 
he  said.  "  We  will  be  wife  and  husband  before  we  part  for 
long ! " 

She  hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder.  "Anything  to  make 
sure  I "  she  whispered. 

"  I  did  not  like  to  propose  it  immediately,"  continued 
Stephen.  "  It  seemed  to  me — it  seems  to  me  now — like 
trying  to  catch  you — a  girl  better  in  tiie  world  than  I." 

"  Not  that  indeed  !  and  am  I  better  in  worldly  station  1 
What's  the  use  of  have  beens  ?  We  may  have  been  some- 
thing once  ;  we  are  nothing  now." 

Then  they  whispered  long  and  earnestly  together ; 
Stephen  hesitatingly  proposing  this  and  that  plan,  Elfride 
modifying  them,  with  quick  breathings,  and  hectic  flush,  and 
unnaturally  bright  eyes.  It  was  two  o'clock  before  an 
arrangement  was  finally  concluded. 

She  then  told  him  to  leave   her,  giving  him  his  light  to 


A  PAIR  Of  r>LUE  EYES.  gg 

go  up  to  his  own  room.  They  parted  with  an  agreement 
not  to  meet  again  in  the  morning.  After  his  door  had  been 
some  time  closed  he  heard  her  softly  ghding  into  net 
chamber. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

<*  JOURNEYS   END    IN  LOVERS'    MEETING." 

STEPHEN  lay  watching  the  Great  Bear;  Elfride  lay 
regarding  a  monotonous  parallelogram  of  window- 
blind.     Neither  slept  that  night. 

Early  the  next  morning — that  is  to  say,  four  hours  after 
their  stolen  interview,  and  just  as  the  earliest  servant  was 
heard  moving  about — Stephen  Smith  went  down  stairs,  port- 
manteau in  hand.  Throughout  the  night  he  had  intended 
to  see  Mr.  Swancourt  again,  but  the  sharp  rebuff  of  the  pre- 
vious evening  rendered  such  an  interview  particularly  dis- 
tasteful. Perhaps  there  was  another  and  less  honest  reason. 
He  decided  to  put  it  off.  Whatever  of  moral  timidity  or 
obliquity  may  have  lain  in  such  a  decision,  nu  perception 
of  it  was  strong  enough  to  detain  him.  He  wrote  a  note 
in  his  room,  which  stated  simply  that  he  did  not  feel  happy 
in  the  house  after  Mr.  Swancourt's  sudden  veto  on  what 
he  had  favored  a  few  hours  before  ;  but  that  he  hoped  a 
time  would  come,  and  that  soon,  when  his  original  feelings 
of  pleasure  as  Mr.  Swancourt's  guest  might  be  recovered. 

He  expected  to  find  the  down-stairs  rooms  wearing  the 
grey  and  cheerless  aspect  that  early  morning  gives  to  every- 
thing out  of  the  sun.  lie  found  in  the  dining-room  a 
breakfast  laid,  of  which  somebody  had  just  partaken. 

Stephen  gave  the  maid-servant  his  note  of  adieu.  She 
stated  that  Mr.  Swancourt  rose  early  that  morning,  and 
made  an  early  breakfast.  He  was  not  going  away  that  she 
knew  of. 

Stephen  partook  of  a  remnant  cup  of  coffee,  left  the 
house  of  his  Love,  and  turned  into  the  lane.  It  was  so 
early  that  the  shaded  places  still  smelt  like  night-time,  and 
the  sunny  spots  had  hardly  felt  the  sun.  The  horizontal 
rays  made  every  shallow  dip  in  the  ground  to  show  as  a 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  VOi 

well-marked  hollow.  Even  the  channel  of  the  path  was 
enough  to  throw  shade,  and  the  very  stones  of  the  road 
cast  tapering  dashes  of  darkness  westward,  as  long  as 
Jael's  tent-nail. 

At  a  spot  not  more  than  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
vicar's  residence,  the  lane  leading  thence  crossed  the  high- 
road. Stephen  reached  the  point  of  intersection,  stood  still 
and  listened.  Nothing  could  be  heard  save  the  lengthy 
murmuring-line  of  the  sea  upon  the  adjacent  shore.  He 
looked  at  his  watch,  and  then  mounted  a  gate,  upon  which 
he  seated  himself,  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  carrier.  While 
he  sat  he  heard  wheels  coming  in  two  directions. 

The  vehicle  approaching  on  his  right  he  soon  recognized 
as  the  carrier's.  There  were  the  accompanying  sounds  of 
the  owner's  voice  and  the  smack  of  his  whip,  distinct  in  the 
still  morning  air,  by  which  he  encouraged  his  horses  up  the 
hill.  The  other  set  of  wheels  sounded  from  the  lane  Ste- 
phen had  just  traversed.  On  closer  observation,  he  perceiv- 
ed that  they  were  moving  from  the  precincts  of  the  ancient 
manor-house  adjoining  the  vicarage  grounds.  A  carriage 
then  left  the  entrance-gates  of  the  house,  and  wheeling 
round  came  fully  in  sight.  It  was  a  plain  travelling  car- 
riage, with  a  small  quantity  of  luggage,  apparently  a  lady's. 
The  vehicle  came  to  the  junction  of  the  four  ways  half  a 
minute  before  the  carrier  reached  the  same  spot,  and  cross- 
ed directly  in  his  front,  proceeding  by  the  lane  on  the  other 
side. 

Inside  the  carriage  Stephen  could  just  discern  an  el- 
derly lady  with  a  younger  woman,  who  seemed  to  be  her 
maid.  The  road  they  had  taken  led  to  Stratleigh,  a  small 
watering-place  eighteen  miles  north. 

He  heard  the  manor-house  gates  swing  again,  and  look- 
ing up  saw  another  person  leaving  them,  and  walking  off 
in  the  direction  of  the  vicarage  gates.  '  Ah,  would  that  1 
were  moving  that  way ! '  felt  he,  parenthetically.  The 
gentleman  was  tall,  and  resembled  Mr.  Swancourt  in  out- 
line and  attire.  He  opened  the  vicarage  gate  and  went  in. 
Mr.  Swancourt,  then,  it  certainly  was.  Instead  of  remain- 
ing in  bed  that  morning,  Mr.  Swancourt  must  have  taken 
it  into  his  head  to  see  his  new  neighbor  off  on  a  journey. 

The  carrier's  conveyance  had  pulled  up,  and  Stephen 


ICa    .  '^  PAIR  OF  SLUE  EYES, 

now  handed  in  his  portmanteau  and  mounted  the  shafts. 
*'  Who  is  that  lady  in  the  carriage  ? "  he  inquired  indiffer- 
ently of  the  carrier. 

"  That,  sir,  is  Mrs.  Troyton,  a  widder  wi'  a  mint  o* 
money.  She's  the  owner  of  all  that  part  of  Endelstow 
that  is  not  Lord  Luxellian's.  Only  been  here  a  short  time 
— in  short,  since  she  came  into  it  by  law.  The  owner  for- 
merly was  a  terrible  mysterious  party — never  lived  here — 
hardly  ever  was  seen  here  except  in  the  month  of  Septem- 
ber." 

The  horses  were  started  again,  and  noise  rendered  far- 
ther discourse  a  matter  of  too  great  exertion.  Stephen 
crept  inside  under  the  tilt,  and  was  soon  lost  in  reverie. 

Three  hours  and  a  half  of  straining  up  hills  and  jog- 
ging down  brought  them  to  St.  Kirr's,  the  market-town  and 
railway-station  nearest  to  Endelstow,  and  the  place  from 
which  Stephen  Smith  had  journeyed  over  the  downs  on  the^ 
to  him,  memorable  winter  evening  at  the  beginning  of  the 
same  year.  The  carrier's  van  was  so  timed  as  to  meet  a 
passing  up-train,  which  Stephen  entered.  Two  or  three 
hours'  railway  travel  through  vertical  cuttings  in  metamor- 
phic  rock,  through  oak  copses  rich  and  green,  stretching 
over  slopes  and  down  delightful  valleys,  glens,  and  ravines 
sparkling  with  water,  like  many-rilled  Ida,  and  he  plunged 
imid  the  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  people  comprising 
the  town  of  Plymouth. 

There  being  some  time  upon  his  hands,  he  left  his  lug- 
gage at  the  cloak-room,  and  went  on  foot  along  Bedford- 
street  to  the  nearest  church.  Here  Stephen  wandered 
among  the  multifarious  tombstones  and  looked  in  at  the 
chancel  window,  dreaming  of  something  that  was  likely  to 
transpire  by  the  altar  there  in  the  course  of  the  coming 
month.  He  turned  away  and  ascended  the  Hoe,  viewed 
the  magnificent  stretch  of  sea  and  massive  promontories 
of  land,  but  without  particularly  discerning  one  feature  of 
the  varied  perspective.  He  still  saw  that  inner  prospec' 
—the  event  he  hoped  for  in  yonder  church.  The  wide 
Sound,  the  Breakwater,  the  light-house  on  far-off  Eddy- 
stone,  the  dark  steam-vessels,  brigs,  barks,  and  schooners, 
either  floating  stilly  or  gliding  with  tiniest  motion,  were  as 
the  dream  then  ;  the  dreamed-of  event  was  as  the  reality. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 


103 


Soon  Stephen  went  down  from  the  Hoe,  and  returned 
i\  the  direction  whence  he  had  come. 

That  day  was  an  irksome  time  at  Endelstow  vicarage. 
Neither  father  nor  daughter  alluded  to  the  departure  of 
Stephen.  Mr.  Swancourt's  manner  towards  her  partook  of 
ihe  compunctious  kindness  that  only  arises  from  a  mis- 
giving as  to  the  justice  of  some  previous  act. 

Either  from  lack  of  the  capacity  to  grasp  the  whole 
coup  d'  ml,  or  from  a  natural  endowment  for  certain  kinds 
of  stoicism,  women  are  cooler  than  men  in  critical  situa- 
tions of  the  passive  form.  Probably,  in  Elfride's  case  at 
least,  it  was  blindness  to  the  greater  contingencies  of  the 
future  she  was  preparing  for  herself,  which  enabled  her  to 
ask  her  father  in  a  quiet  voice  if  he  could  give  her  a  holi- 
day soon,  to  ride  to  St.  Kirr's  and  go  on  to  Plymouth. 

Now,  she  had  only  once  before  gone  alone  to  Plymouth, 
and  that  was  in  consequence  of  some  unavoidable  difficulty. 
Being  a  country-girl,  and  a  good,  not  to  say  a  wild  horse- 
woman, it  had  been  her  delight  to  canter,  without  the  ghost 
of  an  attendant,  over  the  twelve  or  fourteen  miles  of  hard 
road  intervening  between  their  home  and  the  station  at  St. 
Kirr's,  put  up  the  horse,  and  go  on  the  remainder  of  the 
distance  by  train,  returning  in  the  same  manner  in  the 
evening.  It  was  then  resolved  that,  though  she  had  suc- 
cessfully accomplished  this  journey  once,  it  was  not  to  be 
repeated  without  some  attendance. 

But  Elfride  must  not  be  confounded  with  ordinary  young 
lady  equestrians.  The  circumstances  of  her  lonely  and 
narrow  life  made  it  imperative  that  in  trotting  about  the 
neighborhood  she  must  trot  alone,  or  else  not  at  all. 
Usage  soon  rendered  this  perfectly  natural  to  herself  Her 
father,  who  had  had  other  experiences,  did  not  much  like 
the  idea  of  a  Swancourt,  whose  pedigree  could  be  as  dis- 
tinctly traced  as  a  thread  in  a  skein  of  silk  scampering 
over  the  hills  like  a  farmer's  dr.ughter,  even  though  he 
could  habitually  neglect  her.  But  v/hat  with  his  not  being 
able  to  afford  her  a  regular  attendant,  and  his  inveterate 
habit  of  letting  anything  be  to  save  himself  trouble,  the 
circumstance  grew  customary.  And  so  there  arose  a 
chronic  notion  in  the  villap^ers'  minds   that  all  ladies  rode 


104  "^  ^^^^  ^^  BLUE  EYES. 

without  an  attendant,  like  Miss  Swancourt,  except  a  few 
who  were  sometimes  visiting  at  Lord  Luxellian's. 

"  I  don't  like  your  going  to  Plymouth  alone,  particularly 
going  to  St.  Kirr's  on  horseback.  Why  not  drive,  and  take 
the  man  ? " 

"  It  is  not  nice  to  be  so  overlooked.*'  Worm's  com- 
pany would  not  seriously  have  interfered  with  her  plans, 
but  it  was  her  humor  to  go  without  him. 

"  When  do  you  want  to  go  ? "  said  her  father. 

She  only  answered,  "  Soon." 

"  I  will  consider,"  he  said. 

Only  a  few  days  elapsed  before  she  asked  again.  A 
letter  had  reached  her  from  Stephen.  It  had  been  timed 
to  come  on  that  day  by  special  arrangement  between  them. 
In  it  he  named  the  earliest  morning  on  which  he  could 
meet  her  in  Plymouth.  Her  father  had  been  on  a  journey 
to  Stratleigh,  and  returned  in  unusual  buoyancy  of  spirit. 
It  was  a  good  opportunity ;  and,  since  the  dismissal  of 
Stephen,  her  father  had  been  generally  in  a  mood  to  make 
small  concessions,  that  he  might  steer  clear  of  large  ones 
connected  with  that  outcast  lover  of  hers. 

"  Next  Thursday  week  I  am  going  from  home  in  a  dif- 
ferent direction,"  said  her  father.  "  In  fact,  I  shall  leave 
home  the  night  before.  You  might  choose  the  same  day, 
for  they  wish  to  take  up  the  carpets,  or  some  such  thing,  I 
think.  As  I  said,  I  don't  like  you  to  be  seen  in  a  town  on 
horseback  alone  ;  but  go  if  you  will." 

Thursday  week.  Her  father  had  named  the  very  day 
that  Stephen  also  had  named  that  morning  as  the  earliest 
on  which  it  would  be  of  any  use  to  meet  her  ;  that  was, 
about  fifteen  days  from  the  day  on  which  he  had  left  En- 
delstow.  Fifteen  days — that  fragment  of  duration  which 
has  acquired  such  an  interesting  individuality  from  its  con- 
nection with  the  English  marriage-law. 

She  involuntarily  looked  at  her  father  so  strangely,  that 
on  becoming  conscious  of  the  look  she  paled  with  embar- 
rassment. Her  father,  too,  looked  confused.  What  v/as 
he  thinking  of? 

There  seemed  to  be  a  special  facility  offered  her  by  a 
power  external  to  herself  in  the  circumstance  that  Mr. 
Swancourt  had  proposed  to  leave  honie  the  night  previous 


A  FAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  I05 

to  her  wished-for  day.  Her  father  seldom  took  long  jour- 
neys  ;  seldom  slept  from  home  except  perhaps  on  the  night 
following  a  remote  Visitation.  Well,  she  would  not  inquire 
too  curiously  into  the  reason  of  the, opportunity,  nor  did  he, 
as  would  have  been  natural,  proceed  to  explain  it  of  his  own 
accord.  In  matters  of  fact  there  had  hitherto  been  no  re- 
serve between  them,  though  they  were  not  usually  confiden- 
tial in  its  full  sense.  But  the  divergence  of  their  emotions 
on  Stephen's  account  had  produced  an  estrangement  which 
just  at  present  went  even  to  the  extent  of  reticence  on  the 
most  ordinary  household  topics. 

Elfride  was  almost  unconsciously  relieved,  persuading 
herself  that  her  father's  reserve  on  his  business  justified 
her  in  secrecy  as  regarded  her  own — a  secrecy  which  was 
necessarily  a  foregone  decision  with  her.  So  anxious  is  a 
young  conscience  to  discover  a  palliative,  that  the  ex  post 
facto  nature  of  a  reason  is  of  no  account  in  excluding  it. 

The  intervening  fortnight  was  spent  by  her  mostly 
in  walking  by  herself  among  the  shrubs  and  trees,  indulging 
sometimes  in  sanguine  anticipations ;  more,  far  more,  fre- 
quently, in  misgivings.  All  her  flowers  seemed  dull  of 
hue ;  her  pets  seemed  to  look  wistfully  into  her  eyes,  as  if 
they  no  longer  stood  in  the  same  friendly  relation  to  her  as 
formerly.  She  wore  melancholy  jewelry,  gazed  at  sunsets, 
and  talked  to  old  men  and  women.  It  was  the  first  time 
that  she  had  had  an  inner  and  private  world  apart  from  the 
visible  one  about  her.  She  wished  her  papa,  instead  of 
neglecting  her  even  more  than  usual,  would  make  some  ad- 
vance— just  one  word  ;  she  would  then  tell  all,  and  risk 
Stephen's  displeasure.  Thus  brought  round  to  the  youth 
again,  she  saw  him  in  her  fancy,  standing,  touching  her,  his 
eyes  full  of  sad  affection,  hopelessly  renouncing  his  attempt 
because  she  had  renounced  hers  3  and  she  could  not 
recede- 
On  the  Wednesday  she  was  to  receive  another  letter. 
She  had  resolved  to  let  her  father  see  the  arrival  of  this 
one,  be  the  consequences  what  they  might :  the  dread  of 
losing  her  lover  by  this  deed  of  honesty  prevented  her  act- 
ing upon  the  resolve.  Five  minutes  before  the  postman's 
expected  arrival,  she  slipped  out,  and  down  the  lane  to 
meet  him.    She  met  him  immediately  upon  turning  a  sharp 


jq5  a  pair  of  blue  eyes, 

angle,  which  hid  her  from  view  in  the  direction  of  the  vicar- 
age. The  man  smilingly  handed  one  missive,  and  was  go- 
ing on  to  hand  another,  a  circular  from  some  tradesman. 

"  No,"  she  said  ;  "  take  that  on  to  the  house." 

"  Why,  miss,  you  are  doing  what  your  father  has  done 
for  the  last  fortnight." 

She  did  not  comprehend. 

"  Why,  come  to  this  corner,  and  take  a  letter  of  me 
every  morning,  all  writ  in  the  same  handwriting,  and  let- 
ting any  others  for  him  go  on  to  the  house."  And  on  the 
postman  went. 

No  sooner  had  he  turned  the  corner  behind  her  back 
than  she  heard  her  father  meet  and  address  the  man.  She 
had  saved  her  letter  by  two  minutes.  Her  father  audibly 
went  through  precisely  the  same  performance  as  she  had 
just  been  guilty  of  herself. 

This  stealthy  conduct  of  his  was,  to  say  the  least,  pe- 
culiar. 

Given  an  impulsive  inconsequent  girl,  neglected  as  to 
her  inner  life  by  her  only  parent,  and  the  following  forces 
alive  within  her  ;  to  determine  a  resultant : 

First  love,  acted  upon  by  a  deadly  fear  of  separation 
from  its  object. 

Inexperience,  guiding  onward  a  frantic  wish  to  prevent 
the  above-named  issue. 

Misgivings  as  to  propriety,  met  by  hope  of  ultimate  ex- 
oneration. 

Indignation  at  parental  inconsistency  in  first  encourag- 
ing, then  forbidding. 

A  chilling  sense  of  disobedience,  overpowered  by  a  con- 
scientious inability  to  brook  a  breaking  of  plighted  faith 
with  a  man  who,  in  essentials,  had  remained  unaltered 
from  the  beginning. 

A  blessed  hope  that  opposition  would  turn  an  erroneous 
judgment. 

A  bright  faith  that  things  would  mend  thereby,  and  wind 
up  well. 

Probably  the  result  would,  after  all,  have  been  nil,  had 
not  the  following  few  remarks  been  made  one  day  at  break- 
fast. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  XO7 

Her  father  was  in  his  old  hearty  spirits.  He  smiled  to 
himself  at  stories  too  bad  to  tell,  and  called  Elfride  a  lit- 
tle scamp  for  surreptitiously  preserving  some  blind  kittens 
that  ought  to  have  been  drowned.  After  this  expression, 
she  said  to  him  suddenly  : 

"  If  Mr.  Smidi  had  been  already  in  the  family,  you  would 
not  have  been  made  wretched  by  discovering  he  had  pooi 
relations  ? " 

"  Do  you  mean  in  the  family  by  marriage  ?  "  he  replied 
inattentively,  and  condnuing  to  peel  his  egg. 

"  The  accumulating  scarlet  told  that  was  her  meaning 
as  much  as  the  affirmative  reply. 

"  I  should  have  put  up  with  it,  no  doubt,"  Mr.  Swan- 
court  observed. 

"  So  that  you  would  not  have  been  driven  into  hopeless 
melancholy,  but  have  made  the  best  of  him  ?  " 

Elfride's  erratic  mind  had  from  her  youth  upwards  been 
constantly  in  the  habit  of  perplexing  her  father  by  hypothet- 
ical questions,  based  on  absurd  conditions.  The  presenf 
seemed  to  be  cast  so  precisely  in  the  mould  of  previous 
ones  that,  not  being  given  to  syntheses  of  circumstance,  he 
answered  it  with  customary  complacency. 

"  If  he  were  allied  to  us  irretrievably,  of  course  I,  or  any 
sensible  man,  should  accept  conditions  that  could  not  be 
altered  ;  certainly  not  be  hopelessly  melancholy  about  it.  1 
don't  believe  anything  in  the  world  would  make  me  hopelessly 
melancholy.     And  don't  let  anything  make  you  so,  either.' 

"  I  won't  papa,"  she  cried,  with  a  serene  brightness  that 
pleased  him. 

Certainly  Mr.  Swancourt  must  have  been  far  from 
thinking  that  the  brightness  came  from  an  exhilarating  in- 
tention to  hold  back  no  longer  from  the  mad  action  she  had 
planned. 

In  the  evening  he  drove  away  towards  Stratleigh,  quite 
alone.  It  was  an  unusual  course  for  him.  At  the  door 
Elfride  had  been  again  almost  impelled  by  her  feelings  to 
pour  out  all. 

"  Why  are  you  going  to  Stratleigh,  papa  ?  "  she  said,  and 
looked  at  him  longingly. 

"  I  will  tell  you  to-morrow  when  I  come  back,"  he  said 
merrily ;  "  not  before  then,  Elfride.     Thou  wilt  not  utter 


108  ^  -P^/^  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

what  thou  dost  not  know,  and  so  far  will  I  trust  thee,  gentle 
Elfride." 

She  was  repressed  and  hurt. 

"  I  will  tell  you  my  errand  to  Plymouth,  too,  when  I 
come  back,"  she  murmured. 

He  went  away.  His  merriment  made  her  intention  seem 
the  lighter,  as  his  indifference  made  her  more  resolved  to  do 
as  she  liked. 

It  was  a  familiar  September  sunset,  dark-blue  fragments 
)f  cloud  upon  an  orange-yellow  sky.  These  sunsets  used  to 
lempt  her  to  walk  towards  them,  as  any  beautiful  thing 
lempts  a  near  approach.  She  went  through  the  field  tc  the 
privet  hedge,  clambered  into  the  middle  of  it,  and  reclined 
upon  the  thick  boughs.  After  looking  westward  for  a  con- 
siderable time,  she  blamed  herself  for  not  looking  eastward 
to  where  Stephen  was,  and  turned  round.  Ultimately  her 
eyes  fell  upon  the  ground. 

A  peculiarity  was  observable  beneath  her.  A  green  field 
spiviad  itself  on  each  side  of  the  hedge,  one  belongitig  to 
the  glebe,  the  other  a  part  of  the  land  attached  to  the  manor- 
house  adjoining.  On  the  vicarage  side  she  saw  a  little  foot- 
path, the  distinctive  and  altogether  exceptional  feature  of 
which  consisted  in  its  being  only  about  ten  yards  long,  and 
terminating  abruptly  at  each  end. 

A  footpath,  suddenly  beginning  and  suddenly  ending, 
coming  from  nowhere  and  leading  nowhere,  she  had  never 
seen  before. 

Yes,  she  had,  on  second  thoughts.  She  had  seen  ex- 
actly such  a  path* trodden  in  the  front  of  barracks  by  the 
sentry. 

And  this  recollection  explained  the  origin  of  the  path 
here.  Her  father  had  trodden  it  by  passing  up  and  down, 
as  she  had  once  seen  him  doing. 

Sitting  on  the  hedge  as  she  was,  her  eyes  commanded  a 
view  of  both  sides  of  it.  And  a  few  minutes  later,  Elfride 
looked  over  to  the  manor  side. 

Here  was  another  sentry  path.  It  was  like  the  first  in 
length,  and  it  began  and  ended  exactly  opposite  the  begin- 
ning and  ending  of  its  neighbor,  but  it  was  thinner,  and  less 
distinct. 

1  wo  reasons  existed  for  the  difference.     This  one  might 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


109 


have  been  trodden  by  a  similar  weight  of  tread  to  the  other, 
exercised  a  less  number  of  times ;  or  it  might  have  been 
walked  just  as  frequently,  but  by  lighter  feet. 

Probably  a  gentleman  from  Scotland-yard,  had  he  been 
passing  at  the  time,  might  have  considered  the  latter  alter- 
native as  the  more  probable.  Elfride  thought  otherwise,  so 
far  as  she  thought  at  all.  But  her  own  great  To-Morrow 
was  now  imminent ;  all  thoughts  inspired  by  casual  sights 
of  the  eye  were  only  allowed  to  exercise  themselves  in  infe- 
rior corners  of  her  brain,  previous  to  being  banished  alto- 
gether. 

Elfride  was  at  length  compelled  to  reason  practically 
upon  her  undertaking.  AH  her  definite  perceptions  there- 
on, v/hen  the  emotion  accompanying  them  v/as  abstracted, 
amounted  to  no  more  than  these  : 

"  Say  an  hour  and  three-quarters  to  ride  to  St.  Kirr's. 

"  Say  half  an  hour  at  the  Falcon  to  change  my  dress. 

"  Say  two  hours  waiting  for  some  train  and  getting  to 
Plymouth. 

"  Say  an  hour  to  spare  before  twelve  o'clock. 

"  Total  time  from  leaving  Endelstow  till  twelve  o'clock, 
five  hours  ;  therefore  I  shall  have  to  start  at  seven." 

No  surprise  or  sense  of  unwontedness  entered  the  minds 
of  the  servants  at  her  early  ride.  The  monotony  of  life  we 
associate  v/ith  people  of  small  incomes  in  districts  out  of 
the  sound  of  the  railway  whistle,  has  one  exception,  which 
puts  into  shade  the  experience  of  dwellers  about  the  great 
centres  of  population— that  is,  in  travelKng.  Every  jour- 
ney there,  is  more  or  less  an  ad-venture  ;  adventurous  hours 
are  necessarily  chosen  for  the  most  commonplace  outing. 
Miss  Elfride  had  to  leave  early — that  was  all. 

Elfride  never  went  out  on  horseback  but  she  brought 
home  something — something  found,  or  something  bought. 
If  she  trotted  to  town  or  village,  her  burden  was  books. 
If  to  hills,  woods,  or  the  seashore,  it  was  wonderful  mosses, 
abnormal  twigs,  a  handkerchief  of  wet  shells  or  sea- weed. 

Once,  on  a  muddy  day,  when  Pansy  was  walking  with 
her  down  the  street  of  Stranton  village,  on  a  fair-day,  a 
packet  in  front  of  her  and  a  packet  under  her  arm,  an  acci- 
dent befel  the  packets,  and  they  slipped  down.     On  one 


no 


^   PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


side  of  her,  three  volumes  of  fiction  lay  kissing  the  mud  . 
on  the  other,  numerous  skeins  of  polychrome  wools  lay 
absorbing  it.  Unpleasant  female  faces  smiled  through 
windows  at  the  mishap,  the  men  all  looked  round,  and  a 
boy,  who  was  minding  a  gingerbread  stall  while  the  owner 
had  gone  to  get  drunk,  laughed  loudly.  The  blue  eyes 
turned  to  sapphires,  and  the  cheeks  crimsoned  with 
vexation. 

After  that  misadventure  she  set  her  wits  to  work,  and 
was  ingenious  enough  to  invent  an  arrangement  of  small 
straps  about  the  saddle,  by  which  a  great  deal  could  be 
safely  carried  thereon,  in  a  small  compass.  Here  she  now 
spread  out  and  fastened  a  plain  dark  walking-dress  and  a 
few  other  trifles  of  apparel.  Worm  opened  the  gate  for  her, 
and  she  vanished  away. 

One  of  the  brightest  mornings  of  late  summer  shone 
upon  her.  The  heather  was  at  its  purplest,  the  furze  at  its 
yellowest,  the  grasshoppers  chirped  loud  enough  for  animals, 
the  snakes  hissed  like  little  engines,  and  Elfride  at  first  felt 
lively.  Sitting  at  ease  upon  Pansy,  in  her  orthodox  riding- 
habit  and  nondescript  hat,  she  looked  what  she  felt.  But 
the  mercury  of  these  days  had  a  trick  of  falling  unexpect- 
edly. First,  only  for  one  minute  in  ten  had  she  a  sense  of 
depression.  Then  a  large  cloud,  that  had  been  hanging  in 
the  north  like  a  black  fleece,  came  and  placed  itself  between 
herself  and  the  sun.  It  helped  on  what  was  already  inevi- 
table, and  she  sank  into  a  uniformity  of  sadness. 

She  turned  in  the  saddle  and  looked  back.  They  were 
now  on  an  open  table-land,  whose  altitude  still  gave  her  a 
view  of  the  sea  by  Endelstow.  She  looked  longingly  at  that 
spot. 

During  this  little  revulsion  of  feeling.  Pansy  had  been 
still  advancing,  and  Elfride  felt  it  would  be  absurd  to  turn 
her  little  mare's  head  the  other  way.  "  Still,"  she  thought, 
"  if  I  had  a  mamma  at  home  I  would  go  back ! " 

And,  making  one  of  those  stealthy  movements  by  which 
women  let  their  hearts  juggle  with  their  brains,  she  did  put 
the  horse's  head  about,  as  if  unconsciously,  and  went  at  a 
hand-gallop  towards  home  for  more  than  a  mile.  By  this 
time,  from  the  inveterate  habit  of  valuing  what  we  have  re- 
nounced directly  the  alternative  is  chosen,  the  thought  of 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES.  I  \  i 

her  forsaken  Stephen  recalled  her,  and  she  turned  about, 
and  cantered  on  to  St.  Kirr's  again. 

This  miserable  strife  of  thought  now  began  to  rage  in 
all  its  wildness.  Overwrought  and  trembling,  she  dropped 
the  rein  upon  Pansy's  shoulders,  and  vowed  she  would  be 
led  whither  the  horse  should  take  her. 

Pansy  slackened  her  pace  to  a  walk,  and  walked  on  with 
her  agitated  burden  for  three  or  four  minutes.  At  the  ex- 
piration of  this  time  they  had  come  to  a  little  by-way  on  the 
right,  leading  down  a  slope  to  a  pool  of  water.  The  pony 
stopped,  loolced  towards  the  pool,  and  then  advanced  and 
stooped  to  drink. 

Elfride  looked  at  her  watch  and  discovered  that,  if  she 
were  going  to  reach  St.  Kirr's  early  enough  to  change  her 
dress  at  the  Falcon,  and  get  a  chance  of  some  early  train  to 
Plymouth — there  were  only  two  available — it  was  necessary 
to  proceed  at  once. 

She  was  impatient.  It  seemed  as  if  Pansy  would  never 
stop  drinking ;  and  the  repose  of  the  pool,  the  idle  motions 
of  the  insects  and  flies  upon  it,  the  placid  waving  of  the 
flags,  the  leaf  skeletons,  like  Genoese  filigree,  placidly  sleep- 
ing at  the  bottom,  by  their  contrast  with  her  own  turmoil, 
made  her  impatience  greater. 

Pansy  did  turn  at  last,  and  went  up  the  slope  again  to 
the  high-road.  The  pony  came  upon  it,  and  stood  cross- 
wise, looking  up  and  down.  Elfride's  heart  throbbed  errati- 
cally, and  she  thought,  "  Horses,  if  left  to  themselves,  make 
for  where  they  are  best  fed.     Pansy  will  go  home." 

Pansy  turned  and  walked  on  towards  St.  Kirr's. 

Pansy  at  home,  during  summer,  had  little  but  grass  to 
live  on.  After  a  run  to  St.  Kirr's  she  alv;ays  had  a  feed  of 
corn  to  support  her  on  the  return  journey.  Therefore, 
being  now  more  than  halfway,  she  preferred  St.  Kirr's. 

But  Elfride  did  not  remember  this  now.  All  she  cared 
to  recognize  was  a  dreamy  fancy  that  to-day's  rash  action 
was  not  her  own.  She  was  convulsed  with  feeling.  It 
seemed  indispensable  now  to  adhere  to  the  programme.  So 
strangely  involved  are  motives  that,  more  than  by  her  prom- 
ise to  Stephen,  more  even  than  by  her  love,  she  was  forced 
on  by  a  sense  of  the  necessity  of  keeping  faith  with  herself, 
as  promised  in  the  inane  vow  of  ten  minutes  ago. 


112 


A  FAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


She  hesitated  no  longer.  Pansy  went,  like  the  steed  of 
Adonis,  as  if  she  told  the  steps.  Presently  the  quaint  ga- 
bles and  jumbled  roofs  of  St.  Kirr's  were  spread  beneath 
her,  and  going  down  the  hill  she  entered  the  courtyard  of  the 
Falcon.  Mrs,  Buckle,  the  landlady,  came  to  the  door  to 
meet  her. 

The  Swancourts  were  well  known  here.  The  transition 
from  equestrian  to  the  ordinary  guise  of  railway  travellers 
had  been  more  than  once  performed  by  father  and  daughter 
in  this  establishment. 

In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Elfride  emerged  from 
the  door  in  her  walking-dress,  and  went  to  the  railway. 
She  had  not  told  Mrs.  Buckle  anything  as  to  her  intentions, 
and  was  supposed  to  be  gone  out  shopping. 

An  hour  and  forty  minutes  later,  and  she  was  in  Ste- 
phen's arms  at  the  Plymouth  station.  Not  upon  the  plat- 
form— in  the  secret  retreat  of  a  deserted  waiting-room. 

Stephen's  face  boded  ill.     He  was  pale  and  despondent. 

*'  What  is  the  matter.?  "  she  asked. 

"We  cannot  be  married  here  to-day,  my  Elfie !  I  ought 
to  have  known  it  and  staid  here.  In  my  ignorance  I  did 
not.  I  have  the  licence,  but  it  can  only  be  used  in  my 
parish  in  London.  I  only  came  down  last  night,  as  you 
know." 

*'  What  ever  shall  wc  do  ?  "  she  said  blankly. 

"  There's  only  one  thing  we  can  do,  darling." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Go  on  to  London  by  a  train  just  starting,  and  be  mar- 
ried there  to-morrow." 

"  Passengers  for  the  1 1.5  up  train  take  their  seats !  "  said 
a  guard's  voice  on  the  platform. 

"  Will  you  go,  Elfride  ? " 

"  I  will." 

In  three  minutes  the  train  had  moved  off,  bearirg  awajf 
with  it  Stephen  and  Elfride. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

**  ADIEU  !  SHE  CRIES,  AND  WAVED  HER   LILY  HAND.  ' 

THE  few  tattered  clouds  of  the  morning  enlarged  and 
united,  the  sun  withdrew  behind  them  to  emerge  no 
more  that  day,  and  the  evening  drew  to  a  close  in  drifts  of 
rain.  The  water-drops  beat  like  duck-shot  against  the 
window  of  the  railway  carriage  containing  Stephen  and 
Elfride. 

The  journey  from  Plymouth  to  Paddington,  by  even  the 
most  headlong  express,  allows  quite  enough  leisure  for 
passion  of  any  sort  to  cool.  Elfride's  excitement  had 
passed  off,  and  she  sat  in  a  kind  of  stupor  during  the  latter 
half  of  the  journey.  She  was  aroused  by  the  clanging  of 
the  maze  of  rails  over  which  they  wended  their  way  at  the 
entrance  to  the  station. 

*'  Is  this  London  ?"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  darling,"  said  Stephen,  in  a  tone  of  assurance  he 
was  far  from  feeling.  To  him,  no  less  than  to  her,  the 
reality  so  greatly  differed  from  the  prefiguring. 

She  peered  out  as  well  as  the  window,  beaded  with 
drops,  would  allow  her,  and  saw  only  the  lamps  which  had 
just  been  lit,  blinking  in  the  wet  atmosphere,  and  rows  of 
hideous  zinc  chimney-pipes  in  dim  relief  against  the  sky. 
She  writhed  uneasily,  as  when  a  thought  is  swelling  in  the 
mind  which  must  cause  much  pain  at  its  deliverance  in 
words.  Elfride  had  known  no  more  about  the  stings  of 
evil  report  than  the  native  wild-fowl  knew  of  the  effects  of 
Crusoe's  first  shot.  Now  she  saw  a  little  farther,  and  a 
little  farther  still. 

The  train  stopped.  Stephen  relinquished  the  soft  hand 
he  had  held  all  the  day,  and  proceeded  to  assist  her  on  to 
the  platform. 

This  act  of  alightmg  upon  sl/ange  ground  seemed  all 


114  ^  ^"^^^  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

that  was  wanted  to  complete  a  resolution  within  her.  She 
looked  at  her  betrothed  with  despairing  eyes. 

"  O,  Stephen,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  am  so  miserable !  I 
must  go  home  again — I  must— I  must!  Forgive  my 
wretched  vacillation.  I  don't  like  it  here — nor  myself— 
nor  you  ? " 

Stephen  looked  b^^wildered,  and  did  not  speak. 

"  Will  you  allow  ne  to  go  home .? "  she  implored.  *'  I 
won't  trouble  you  tc  go  with  me.  I  will  not  be  any  weight 
upon  you;  only  sa-  you  will  agree  to  my  returning;  that 
you  will  not  hate  me  for  it,  Stephen !  It  is  better  that  I 
should  return  again  ;  indeed  it  is,  Stephen." 

"  But  we  can't  return  now,"  he  said,  in  a  deprecatory 
tone. 

"  I  must !  I  will ! " 

"  How  ?    When  do  you  want  to  go  ? " 

"  Now.     Can  we  go  at  once  ? " 

The  lad  looked  hopelessly  along  the  platform.  "  If  you 
must  go,  and  think  it  wrong  to  remain,  dearest,"  said  he 
sadly,  "you  shall.  You  shall  do  whatever  you  like,  my 
Elfride.  But  would  you  in  reality  rather  go  now  than 
stay  till  to-morrow,  and  go  as  my  wife } " 

"Yes,  yes — much — anything  to  go  now.  I  must;  I 
must ! "  she  cried. 

"  We  ought  to  have  done  one  of  two  things,"  he  an- 
swered gloomily.  "Never  to  have  started,  or  not  to  have 
returned  without  being  married.  I  don't  like  to  say  it, 
Elfride — indeed  I  don't ;  but  you  must  be  told  this,  that 
going  back  unmarried  may  compromise  your  good  name  in 
the  eyes  of  people  who  may  hear  of  it." 

"  They  will  not ;  and  I  must  go." 

"  O  Elfride,  Elfride ;  I  am  to  blame  for  bringing  you 
away ! " 

"Not  at  all.     I  am  the  elder." 

"  By  a  month  ;  and  what's  that?  But  never  mind  that 
now."  He  looked  around.  "  Is  there  a  train  for  Ply- 
mouth to-night?"  he  inquired  of  a  guard.  The  guard 
passed  on  and  did  not  speak. 

"  Is  there  a  train  for  Plymouth  to-night  ? "  said  Elfride 
to  another. 

"Yes,    miss;    the  8.10— leaves  in  ten  minutes.     You 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UK  E  YES.  1 1 5 

have  come  to  the  wrong  platform  ;  it  is  the  other  side. 
Change  at  Bristol  into  the  night  mail.  Down  that  stair- 
case, and  under  the  line." 

They  ran  down  the  staircase — Elfride  first — to  the 
booking-office,  and  into  a  carriage  with  an  official  standing 
beside  the  door.  "  Show  your  tickets,  please" — they  are 
locked  in — men  about  the  platform  accelerate  their  veloci- 
ties till  they  fly  up  and  down  like  shuttles  in  a  loom — a 
whistle — the  waving  of  a  flag — a  human  cry — a  steam  groan 
— and  away  they  go  to  Plymouth  again,  just  catching  these 
words,  as  they  glide  away : 

"Those  two  youngsters  had  a  near  run  for  it,  and  no 
mistake  !  " 

Elfride  found  her  breath. 

*'  And  have  you  come  too,  Stephen  ?    Why  did  you  ? ' 

"  I  shall  not  leave  you  till  I  see  you  safe  at  St.  Kirr's. 
Do  not  think  worse  of  me  than  I  am,  Elfride." 

And  then  they  rattled  along  through  the  night.  The 
weather  cleared,  and  the  stars  shone  in  upon  them.  Their 
two  or  three  fellow-passengers  sat  for  most  of  the  time 
with  closed  eyes.  Stephen  sometimes  slept ;  Elfride  alone 
was  wakeful  and  palpitating  hour  after  hour. 

The  day  began  to  break,  and  revealed  that  they  were 
by  the  sea.  Red  rocks  overhung  them,  and,  receding 
into  distance,  grew  livid  in  the  blue-grey  atmosphere.  The 
sun  rose,  and  sent  penetrating  shafts  of  light  in  upon  their 
weary  faces.  Another  hour,  and  the  world  began  to  be 
busy.  They  waited  yet  a  little,  and  the  train  slackened  its 
speed  in  view  of  the  platform  at  St.  Kirr's. 

She  shivered,  and  mused  sadly. 

"  I  did  not  see  all  the  consequences,"  she  said,  "  Ap- 
pearances are  wofully  against  me.  If  anybody  finds  me 
out,  I  am,  I  suppose,  disgraced." 

"  Then  appearances  will  speak  falsely ;  and  how  can  that 
matter,  even  if  they  do  ?  I  shall  be  your  husband  sooner  or 
later,  for  certain,  and  so  prove  your  purity." 

'*  Stephen,  once  in  London  I  ought  to  have  married 
you,"  she  said  firmly.  "  It  was  my  only  safe  defence.  I 
see  more  things  now  than  I  did  yesterday.  My  only  re- 
maining chance  is  not  to  be  discovered ;  and  that  we  must 
fight  for  most  desperately." 


.l6  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

They  stepped  out.  Elfride  pulled  a  thick  veil  over  hei 
fece. 

A  woman  with  red  and  scaly  eyelids  and  glistening  eyes 
was  sitting  on  a  bench  just  inside  the  office-door.  She 
fixed  her  eyes  upon  Elfride  with  an  expression  whose  force 
it  was  impossible  to  doubt,  but  the  meaning  of  which  was 
not  clear;  then  upon  the  carriage  they  had  left  She 
seemed  to  read  a  strange  story  in  the  scene.  Elfride  shrank 
back,  and  turned  the  other  way. 

'-'■  Who  is  that  woman  ?  "  said  Stephen.  "  She  looked 
hard  at  you." 

'*  Mrs.  Jethwa}^ — a  widow,  and  mother  of  that  young 
man  whose  tomb  we  sat  on  the  other  night.  Stephen,  she 
is  my  enemy.  Would  that  God  had  had  mercy  enough 
upon  me  to  have  hidden  this  from  her  I " 

"Do  not  talk  so  hopelessly,"  he  remonstrated.  "I 
don't  think  she  recognized  us." 

"  I  pray  that  she  did  not." 

He  put  on  a  more  vigorous  mood. 

"  Now  we  will  go  and  get  some  breakfast." 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  begged.  "  I  cannot  eat.  I  must  get 
back  to  Endelstow." 

Elfride  was  as  if  she  had  grown  years  older  that  Stephen 
now. 

"  But  you  have  had  nothing  since  last  night  but  that 
cup  of  tea  at  Bristol." 

"  I  can't  eat,  Stephen." 

"  Wine  and  biscuit  ?  " 

*'No." 

"  Nor  tea,  nor  coffee  ? " 

"No." 

"  A  glass  of  water  ?  " 
No.  I  want  something  that  makes  people  strong  and 
energetic  for  the  present,  that  borrows  the  strength  of  to- 
morrow for  use  to-day,  and  leaves  to-morrow  without  any 
at  all  for  that  matter ;  or  even  that  would  take  all  life  away 
to-morrow,  so  long  as  it  enabled  me  to  get  home  again  now. 
Brandy,  that's  what  I  want.  That  woman's  eyes  have  eaten 
my  heart  away  !  " 

"  You  are  wild  ,  and  you  grieve  me,  darling.  Must  i* 
be  brandy?" 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  II7 

"Yes,  if  you  please." 

"  How  much  ? " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  have  never  drunk  more  than  a  table* 
spoonful.     Don't  get  it  at  the  Falcon." 

He  left  her  in  the  fields,  and  went  to  the  nearest  inn  in 
that  direction.  Presently  he  returned  with  a  small  flask 
nearly  full,  and  some  slices  of  bread-and-butter,  thin  as 
wafers,  in  a  paper-bag.     Elfride  took  a  sip  or  two. 

"  It  goes  into  my  eyes,"  she  said  wearily.  "  I  can't  take 
any  more.  Yes,  I  will ;  I  will  close  my  eyes.  Ah,  it  goes 
to  them  by  an  inside  route.  I  don't  want  it,  throw  it 
away." 

However,  she  could  eat,  and  did  eat.  Her  chief  atten- 
tion was  concentrated  upon  how  to  get  the  horse  from  the 
Falcon  stables  without  suspicion.  Stephen  was  not  allowed 
to  accompany  her  into  the  town.  She  acted  now  upon 
conclusions  reached  without  any  aid  from  him  :  his  power 
over  her  seemed  to  have  departed. 

"  You  had  better  not  be  seen  with  me,  even  here  where  I 
am  so  little  known.  We  have  begun  stealthily  as  thieves, 
and  we  must  end  stealthily  as  thieves,  at  all  hazards.  Until 
papa  has  been  told  by  me  myself,  a  discovery  would  be  ter- 
rible." 

Walking  and  gloomily  talking  thus  they  waited  till 
nearly  nine  o'clock,  at  which  time  Elfride  thought  she  might 
call  at  the  Falcon  without  creating  much  surprise.  Behind 
the  railway-station  was  the  river,  spanned  by  an  old  Tudor 
bridge,  whence  the  road  diverged  in  two  directions,  one 
skirting  the  suburbs  of  the  town,  and  winding  round  again 
into  the  high  road  to  Endelstow.  Beside  this  road  Stephen 
sat,  and  awaited  her  return  from  the  Falcon. 

He  sat  as  one  in  a  dream,  perfectly  motionless,  watch- 
ing the  checkered  lights  and  shades  on  the  tree-trunks,  the 
children  playing  opposite  the  school  previous  to  entering 
for  the  morning  lesson,  the  reapers  in  a  field  afar  off.  The 
certainty  of  possession  had  not  come,  and  there  was  noth- 
ing to  mitigate  the  heart-sickness  that  increased  with  the 
thought  of  the  parting  now  so  near. 

At  length  she  came  trotting  round  to  him,  in  appearance 
much  as  on  the  romantic  morning  of  their  visit  to  the  cliff, 
but  shorn  of  the  radiance  which  glistened  about  her  then. 


Il8  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

However,  her  comparative  immunity  from  farther  risk  and 
trouble  Iiad  considerably  composed  her.  Elfride's  capacity 
for  being  wounded  was  only  surpassed  by  her  capacity  for 
healing,  which  rightly  or  wrongly  is  by  some  considered  an 
index  of  transientness  of  feeling  in  general. 

"  Elfride,  what  did  they  say  at  the  Falcon  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  Nobody  seemed  curious  about  me.  They 
knew  I  went  to  Plymouth,  and  I  have  staid  there  a  night  now 
and  then  with  Miss  Bicknell.  I  rather  calculated  upon  that." 

And  now  parting  arose  like  a  death  before  them,  for  it 
was  imperative  that  she  should  start  at  once.  Stephen 
walked  beside  her  for  nearly  a  mile.  During  the  walk  he 
said  sadly : 

*'  Elfride,  four-and-twenty  hours  have  passed,  and  the 
thing  is  not  done." 

"  But  you  have  insured  that  it  should  be  done." 

"How  have  I?" 

"  O,  Stephen,  you  ask  how  !  Do  you  think  I  could 
marry  another  man  on  earth  after  having  gone  thus  far  with 
you  ?  Have  I  not  shown  beyond  possibility  of  doubt  that 
I  can  be  nobody  else's  ?  Have  I  not  irretrievably  commit- 
ted myself? — pride  has  stood  for  nothing  in  the  face  of  my 
great  love.  You  misunderstood  my  turning  back,  and  I 
cannot  explain  it.  It  was  wrong  to  go  with  you  at  all  ;  and 
though  it  would  have  been  worse  to  go  farther,  it  would 
have  been  better  policy,  perhaps.  Be  assured  of  this,  that 
whenever  you  have  a  home  for  me — however  poor  and 
humble — and  come  and  claim  me,  I  am  ready."  She  added 
bitterly,  "When  my  father  knows  of  this  day's  work,  he 
may  be  only  too  glad  to  let  me  go." 

"  Perhaps  he  may,  then,  insist  upon  our  marriage  at 
once !  "  Stephen  answered,  seeing  no  other  ray  of  hope  in 
the  very  focus  of  her  remorse.  "  I  hope  he  may,  even  if  we 
had  still  to  part  till  I  am  ready  for  you,  as  we  intended." 

Elfride  did  not  reply. 

"  You  don't  seem  the  same  woman,  Elfie,  that  you  were 
yesterday." 

"  Nor  am  I.  But  good-bye.  Go  back  now."  And  she 
reined  the  horse  for  parting.  "  O,  Stephen,"  she  cried,  "I 
feel  so  weak.  I  don't  know  how  to  meet  him.  Cannot 
you,  after  all,  come  back  with  me  ?" 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES.  I  ig 

'« Shall  I  come  ? " 

Elfride  paused  to  think. 

"  No  ;  it  will  not  do.  It  is  my  utter  foolishness  that 
makes  me  say  such  words.     But  he  will  send  for  you." 

"  Say  to  him,"  continued  Stephen,  "  that  we  did  this  in 
the  absolute  despair  of  our  minds.  Tell  him  we  don't  wish 
him  to  favor  us — only  to  deal  justly  with  us.  If  he  says 
marry  now,  so  much  the  better.  If  not,  say  that  all  may 
be  put.  right  by  his  promise  to  allow  me  to  have  you  when 
I  am  good  enough  for  you — which  may  be  soon.  Say  I 
have  nothing  to  offer  him  in  exchange  for  his  treasure — the 
more  sorry  I  ;  but  all  the  love,  and  all  the  life,  and  all  the 
labor  of  an  honest  man  shall  be  yours.  As  to  when  this 
had  better  be  told,  I  leave  you  to  judge." 

His  words  made  her  cheerful  enough  to  toy  with  her 
position. 

"  And  if  ill  report  should  come,  Stephen,"  she  said, 
smiling,  "why,  the  orange  tree  must  save  me,  as  it  saved 
virgins  in  St.  George's  time,  from  the  poisonous  breath  of 
the  dragon.  There,  forgive  me  for  forwardness :  I  am 
going." 

Then  this  boy  and  girl  beguiled  themselves  with  words 
of  half  parting  only. 

"  Own  wifie,  God  bless  you  till  we  meet  again  1 " 

"Till  we  meet  again,  good-b3^e." 

And  the  pony  went  on,  and  she  spoke  to  him  no  more. 
He  saw  her  figure  diminish  and  her  blue  veil  grow  giey^  — 
saw  it  with  the  agonizing  sensations  of  a  slow  death. 

After  thus  parting  from  a  man  than  whom  she  knew 
none  greater  as  yet,  Elfride  rode  rapidly  onwards,  a  teat 
being  occasionally  shaken  from  her  eye  into  the  road. 
What  yesterday  had  seemed  so  desirable,  so  promising, 
even  trifling,  had  now  acquired  the  complexion  of  a  tragedy. 

She  saw  the  rocks  and  sea  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Endelstow,  and  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

When  she  passed  a  field  behind  the  vicarage  she  heard 
the  voices  of  Unity  and  William  Worm.  They  were  hanging 
a  carpet  upon  a  line.  Unity  was  uttering  a  sentence  that 
concluded  with  "  when  Miss  Elfride  comes." 

"  When  d'  ye  expect  her  ?  '* 


I20  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

"  Not  till  evening  now.  She's  safe  enough  at  Miss 
Bicknell's,  bless  ye." 

Elfride  went  round  to  the  door.  She  did  not  knock  or 
ring  ;  and  seeing  nobody  to  take  the  horse,  Elfride  led  her 
round  to  the  yard,  slipped  off  the  bridle  and  saddle,  drove 
her  round  to  the  paddock,  and  turned  her  in.  Then  Elfride 
crept  in-doors,  and  looked  into  all  the  ground-floor  rooms. 
Her  father  was  not  there. 

On  the  mantel  piece  of  the  drawing-room  stood  a  le-tter 
addressed  to  her  in  his  handwriting.  She  took  it  and  read 
it  as  she  went  up  stairs  to  change  her  habit. 

"  Stratleigh,  Thursday. 
"  Dear  Elfride, — On  second  thoughts  I  will  not  return  to-day,  but 
only  come  as  far  as  Wadcombe.     I  shall  be  at  home  by  to-morrow 
afternoon,  and  bring  a  friend  with  me. — Yours  in  haste,  C.  S." 

After  making  a  quick  toilet  she  felt  more  revived, 
though  still  suffering  from  a  headache.  On  going  out  of 
the  door,  she  met  Unity  at  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

"  O,  Miss  Elfride !  I  said  to  myself  'tis  her  sperrit ! 
We  didn't  dream  o'  you  not  coming  home  last  night.  You 
didn't  say  anything  about  staying." 

"  I  intended  to  come  home  the  same  evening,  but  altered 
my  plan.  I  wished  I  hadn't  afterwards.  Papa  will  be 
angry,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Better  not  tell  him,  miss,"  said  Unity. 

"  I  do  fear  to,"  she  murmured.  "  Unity,  would  you 
just  begin  telling  him  when  he  comes  home? " 

"  What !  and  get  you  into  trouble  ? " 

"  I  deserve  it." 

"No,  indeed,  I  won't,"  said  Unity.  "It  is  not  such  a 
mighty  matter,  Miss  Elfride.  I  says  to  myself,  master's 
taking  a  hollerday,  and  because  he's  not  been  kind  lately 
to  IMiss  Elfride,  she — " 

"  Is  imitating  him.  Well,  do  as  you  like.  And  will 
you  now  bring  me  some  luncheon  ?  " 

After  satisfying  an  appetite  which  the  fresh  marine  air 
had  given  her  in  its  victory  over  an  agitated  mind,  she  put 
on  her  hat  and  went  to  the  garden  and  summer-house. 
She  sat  down,  and  leaned  with  her  head  in  a  corner 

Here  she  fell  asleep. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  12 1 

Half-awake,  she  hurriedly  looked  at  the  time.  She  had 
been  there  three  hours.  At  the  same  moment  she  heard 
the  outer  gate  swing  together,  and  wheels  sweep  round  the 
entrance ;  some  prior  noise  from  the  same  source  having 
probably  been  the  cause  of  her  awaking.  Next  her  father's 
voice  was  heard  calling  to  Worm. 

'  Elfride  passed  along  a  walk  towards  the  house  behind 
a  belt  of  shrubs.  She  heard  a  tongue  holding  converse 
with  her  father,  which  was  not  that  of  either  of  the  servants. 
Her  father  and  the  stranger  were  laughing  together.  Then 
there  was  a  rustling  of  silk,  and  Mr.  Swancourt  and  his 
companion  or  companions,  to  all  seeming,  entered  the  door 
of  the  house,  for  nothing  more  of  them  was  audible. 
Elfride  had  turned  back  to  meditate  on  what  friends  these 
could  be,  when  she  heard  footsteps,  and  her  father  exclaim- 
ing behind  her, 

"  O,  Elfride,  here  you  are  !     I  hope  you  got  on  well  ? " 

Elfride's  heart  smote  her,  and  she  did  not  speak. 

"  Come  back  to  the  summer-house  a  minute,"  continu- 
ed Mr.  Swancourt ;  *'  I  have  to  tell  you  of  that  I  promised 
to." 

They  entered  the  summer-house,  and  stood  leaning 
over  the  knotty  woodwork  of  the  balustrade. 

"Now,"  said  her  father  radiantly,  "guess  what  I  have 
to  say."  He  seemed  to  be  regarding  his  own  existence  so 
intently  that  he  took  no  interest  in  nor  even  saw  the  com- 
plexion of  hers. 

**  I  cannot,  papa,"  she  said  sadly. 

^'Try,  dear." 

"  I  would  rather  not,  indeed." 

"  You  are  tired.  You  look  worn.  The  ride  was  too 
much  for  you.  Well,  this  is  what  I  went  away  for.  I  went 
to  be  married  !  " 

"  Married ! "  she  faltered,  and  could  hardly  check  an 
involuntary  "So  did  I."  A  moment  after  and  her  resolve 
to  confess  perished  like  a  bubble. 

"  Yes  ;  to  whom  do  you  think  ?  Mrs.  Troyton,  the  new 
owner  of  the  estate  over  the  hedge,  and  the  old  manor- 
house.  It  was  only  finally  settled  between  us  when  I  went 
to  Stratleigh  a  few  days  ago."  He  lowered  his  voice  to  a 
sly  tone  of  merriment.  "  Now,  as  your  step-mother,  you'll 
6 


122  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

find  she  is  not  much  to  look  at,  though  a  good  deal  to 
listen  to.  She  is  twenty  years  older  than  myself,  for  one 
thing." 

"  You  forget  that  I  know  her.  She  called  here  once, 
after  we  had  been  and  found  her  away  from  home." 

"  Of  course,  of  course.  Well,  whatever  her  looks  are, 
she's  as  excellent  a  woman  as  ever  breathed.  She  has  had 
lately  left  her  as  absolute  property  two  thousand  five  hun- 
dred a  year,  besides  the  devise  of  this  estate — and,  by  the 
way,  a  large  legacy  came  to  her  in  satisfaction  of  dower, 
as  it  is  called." 

"Two  thousand  five  hundred  a  year!  " 

"  And  a  large — well,  a  fair-sized — mansion  in  town,  and 
a  pedigree  as  long  as  my  walking-stick :  though  that  bears 
evidence  of  being  rather  a  raked-up  aflfair — done  since  the 
family  got  rich — people  do  those  things  now  as  they  build 
ruins  on  maiden  estates  and  cast  antiques  at  Birmingham." 

Elfride  merely  listened  and  said  nothing. 

He  continued  more  quietly  and  impressively.  "Yes, 
Elfride,  she  is  wealthy  in  comparison  with  us,  though  with 
few  connections.  However,  she  will  introduce  you  to  the 
world  a  little.  We  are  going  to  exchange  the  house  in 
Baker-street  for  one  at  South  Kensington,  for  your  sake. 
Everybody  is  going  there  now,  she  says.  At  Easter  we 
shall  fly  to  town  for  the  usual  three  months— I  shall  have  a 
curate  of  course  by  that  time.  Elfride,  I  am  past  love,  you 
know,  and  I  honestly  confess  that  I  married  her  for  your 
sake.  Why  a  woman  of  her  standing  should  have  thrown 
herself  away  upon  me,  God  knows.  But  I  suppose  her  age 
and  plainness  were  too  pronounced  for  a  town  man.  With 
your  good  looks,  if  you  now  play  your  cards  well,  you  may 
marry  anybody.  Of  course,  a  little  contrivance  will  be 
necessary  ;  buit  there's  nothing  to  stand  between  you  and  a 
husband  with  a  title,  that  I  can  see.  Lady  Luxellian  was 
only  a  squire's  daughter.  Now,  don't  you  see  how  foolish 
the  old  fancy  was  .^  But  come,  she  is  in  doors  waiting  to  see 
you.  It  is  as  good  as  a  play,  too,"  continued  the  vicar,  as 
they  walked  toward  the  house.  "  1  courted  her  through  the 
privet  hedge  yonder  :  not  entirely,  you  know,  but  we  used 
to  walk  there  of  an  evening — nearly  every  evening  at  last 
But  I  needn't  tf^ii  vqu  details  now;  everything  was  terribly 


A  PATR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  723 

matter-of-fact,  I  assure  you.     At  last,  that  day  I  saw  her  at 
Stratleigh,  we  determined  to  settle  it  off-hand." 

"  And  you  never  said  a  word  to  me,"  replied  Elfride, 
not  reproachfully  either  in  tone  or  thought.  Indeed,  her 
feeling  was  the  very  reverse  of  reproachful.  She  felt  reliev 
ed  and  even  thankful.  Where  confidence  had  not  beer 
given,  how  could  confidence  be  expected? 

Her  father  mistook  her  dispassionateness  for  a  veil  oV 
politeness  over  a  sense  of  ill-usage.  "I  am  not  altogether 
to  blame,"  he  said.  "  There  were  two  or  three  reasons  for 
secrecy.  One  was  the  recent  death  of  her  relative  the  tes- 
tator, though  that  did  not  apply  to  you.  But  remember, 
Elfride,"  he  continued  in  a  stiffer  tone,  "  you  have  mixed 
yourself  up  so  foolishly  with  those  low  people,  the  Smiths 
— and  it  was  just,  too,  when  Mrs.  Troy  ton  and  myself  were 
beginning  to  understand  each  other — that  I  resolved  to 
say  nothing  even  to  you.  How  did  I  know  ho  v  far  you 
had  gone  with  them  and  their  son .?  You  t  light  have 
made  a  point  of  taking  tea  with  them  every  day  lor  all  that  I 
knew." 

Elfride  swallowed  her  feelings  as  she  bcFt  could,  and 
languidly  though  flatly  asked  a  question. 

"  Did  you  kiss  Mrs.  Troyton  on  the  law  \  about  three 
weeks  ago  ?  That  evening  I  came  into  the  s  udy  and  found 
you  had  just  had  candles  in } " 

Mr.  Swancourt  looked  rather  red  and  3  jashed,  as  mid- 
dle-aged lovers  are  apt  to  do  when  caught  m  the  tricks  of 
younger  ones. 

"Well,  yes;  I  think  I  did,"  he  sta'  miered  ;  "just  to 
please  her,  you  know."  And  then  recovering  himself  he 
laughed  heartily. 

"  And  was  this  what  your  Horatian  quotation  referred 
to  ? " 

"  It  was,  Elfride." 

They  stepped  into  the  drawing-i  iom  from  the  veranda. 
At  that  moment  Mrs.  Swancourt  came  down  stairs,  and  en- 
tered the  same  room  by  the  door. 

"  Here,  Charlotte,  is  my  little  Elfride,"  said  Mr.  Swan- 
court, with  the  increased  affection  of  tone  often  adopted  to- 
wards relations  when  newly  produced. 

Poor  Elfride,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  did  nothing  at 


124 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


all ;  but  stood  receptive  of  all  that  came  to  her  by  sight, 
hearing,  and  touch. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  moved  forward,  took  her  step-daughter's 
hand,  then  kissed  her. 

"  Ah,  darling !  "  she  exclaimed  good  humoredly,  "  you 
didn't  think  when  you  showed  a  strange  old  woman  over  the 
conservatory  a  month  or  two  ago,  and  explained  the  flowers 
to  her  so  prettily,  that  she  would  so  soon  be  here  in  new 
colors.     Nor  did  she,  I  am  sure." 

The  new  mother  had  been  truthfully  enough  described  by 
Mr.  Swancourt.  She  was  not  physically  attractive.  She 
was  dark — very  dark — in  complexion,  portly  in  figure,  and 
with  a  plentiful  residuum  of  hair  in  the  proportion  of  half  a 
dozen  white  ones  to  half  a  dozen  black  ones,  though  the 
latter  were  black  indeed.  No  farther  observed,  she  was  not 
a  woman  to  like.  But  there  was  more  to  see.  To  the 
most  superficial  critic  it  was  apparent  that  she  made  no 
attempt  to  disguise  her  age.  She  looked  sixty  at  the  first 
glance,  and  close  acquaintanceship  never  proved  her  older. 

Another  and  still  more  winning  trait  was  one  attaching 
to  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  Before  she  made  a  remark 
these  often  twitched  gently :  not  backwards  and  forwards, 
the  index  of  nervousness  ;  not  down  upon  the  jaw,  the  sign 
of  determination ;  but  palpably  upwards,  in  precisely  the 
curve  adopted  to  represent  mirth  in  the  broad  caricatures 
of  school-boys.  Only  this  element  in  her  face  was  expres- 
sive of  anything  within  the  woman,  but  it  was  unmistakable. 
It  expressed  humor  subjective  as  well  as  objective — which 
could  survey  the  peculiarities  of  self  in  as  whimsical  a  light 
as  those  of  other  people. 

This  is  not  all  of  Mrs.  Swancourt.  She  had  held  out 
to  Elfride  hands  whose  fingers  were  hterally  stiff  with  rings, 
signis  auroqiie  rigentes^  like  Helen's  robe.  These  rows  of 
rings  were  not  worn  in  vanity  apparently.  They  were  most- 
ly antique  and  dull,  though  a  few  were  the  reverse. 

RIGHT  HAND. 

I  St.  Plainly  set  oval  onyx,  representing  a  devil's  head. 
2nd.  Green  jasper  intaglio,  with  red  veins.  3rd.  Entirely 
gold,  bearing  figure  of  a  hideous  griffin.  4th.  A  sea-green 
monster   diamond,  with   small    diamonds   round   it. '  5  th. 


A  PAIR  OF  riLUE  EYES. 


125 


Antique  cornelian  intaglio  of  dancing  figure  of  a  satyr,  6th. 
An  angular  band  chased  with  dragons'  heads.  7th.  A  facet- 
ted carbuncle,  accompanied  by  ten  little  twinkling  dia- 
monds,  etc. 

LEFT   HAND. 

ist.  A  reddish-yellow  toadstone.  2nd.  A  heav^y  ring 
enamelled  in  colors,  and  bearing  a  jacynth.  3rd.  An  ame- 
thystine sapphire.  4th.  A  polished  ruby,  surrounded  by 
diamonds.  5th.  The  engraved  ring  of  an  abbess.  6th.  A 
gloomy  intaglio,  etc. 

Beyond  this  rather  quaint  array  of  stone  and  metal,  Mrs. 
Swancourt  wore  no  ornament  whatever. 

Elfride  had  been  favorably  impressed  with  Mrs.  Troyton 
at  their  meeting  about  two  months  earlier ;  but  to  be  pleas- 
ed with  a  woman  as  a  momentary  acquaintance  was  differ- 
ent from  being  taken  with  her  as  a  step-mother.  However, 
the  suspension  of  feeling  was  but  for  a  moment.  Elfride 
decided  to  like  her  still. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  was  a  woman  of  the  world  as  to  knowl- 
edge, the  reverse  as  to  action,  as  her  marriage  suggested. 
Elfride  and  the  lady  were  soon  inextricably  involved  in 
conversation,  and  Mr.  Swancourt  left  them   to  themselves. 

"  And  what  do  you  find  to  do  with  yourself  here  ?  "  Mrs. 
Swancourt  said,  after  a  few  remarks  about  the  wedding. 
"  You  ride,  I  know." 

"  Yes,  I  ride.  But  not  much,  because  papa  doesn't  like 
my  going  alone." 

"You  must  have  an  attendant." 

"  And  I  read  and  write  a  little." 

"  You  should  write  a  novel.  The  regular  resource  of 
people  who  don't  go  enough  into  the  world  to  live  one,  is 
to  write  one." 

"  I  have,"  said  Elfride,  looking  dubiously  at  Mrs.  Swan- 
court, as  if  in  doubt  whether  she  would  meet  with  ridicule 
there. 

"  That's  right.     Now  then,  what  is  it  about,  dear  ?  " 

*'  About — well,  it  is  a  romance  of  the  Middle  Ages." 

"Knowing  nothing  of  the  present  age,  which  every- 
body knows  about,  for  safety  you  choose  an  age   knowD 


126  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

neither  to  you  nor  other  people.  That's  it,  eh  ?  No,  no  ;  1 
don't  mean  it,  clear." 

"  Well,  I  have  had  some  opportunities  of  studying  med- 
iaeval art  and  manners  in  the  library  and  private  museum  at 
Endelstow  House,  and  I  thought  I  should  like  to  try  my 
hand  upon  a  fiction.  I  know  the  time  for  these  tales  is 
past ;  but  I  was  interested  in  it,  very  much  interested." 

"  When  is  it  to  appear  ? " 

"  O,  never,  I  suppose." 

"Nonsense,  my  dear  girl.  Publish  it  by  all  means. 
All  ladies  do  that  sort  of  thing  now ;  not  for  profit,  you 
know,  but  as  a  guarantee  of  mental  respectability  to  their 
future  husbands." 

*'  An  excellent  idea  of  us  ladies." 

"  Though  I  am  afraid  it  rather  resembles  the  melan- 
choly ruse  of  throwing  loaves  over  castle  v/alls  at  besiegers, 
and  suggests  desperation  rather  than  plenty  inside." 

"  Did  you  ever  try  it  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  was  too  far  gone  even  for  that." 

"  Papa  says  no  publisher  will  take  my  book." 

"  That  remains  to  be  proved.  Pll  give  my  word,  my 
dear,  that  by  this  time  next  year  it  shall  be  printed." 

"  Will  you,  indeed  ?  "  said  Elfride,  partially  brightening 
with  pleasure,  though  she  was  sad  enough  underneath. 
"  I  thought  brains  were  the  indispensable,  if  not  the  only, 
qualification  for  admission  to  the  republic  of  letters.  A 
mere  common-place  creature  like  me  will  soon  be  turned 
out  again. 

"  O,  no  ;  once  you  are  there  you'll  be  like  a  drop  of 
water  in  a  piece  of  rock-crystal — your  medium  will  dignify 
your  commonness." 

"  It  will  be  a  great  satisfaction,"  Elfride  murmured,  and 
thought  of  Stephen,  and  wished  she  could  make  a  great  for- 
tune by  writing  romances,  and  marry  him  and  live  happily. 

"  And  then  we'll  go  to  London,  and  then  to  Paris," 
said  Mrs.  Swancourt.  "  I  have  been  talking  to  your  father 
about  it.  But  we  have  first  to  move  into  the  manor-house, 
and  we  think  of  staying  at  Torquay  while  that  is  going  on. 
Meanwhile,  instead  of  going  on  a  honey-moon  scamper  by 
ourselves,  we  have  come  home  to  fetch  you,  and  go  all 
together  to  Bath  for  two  or  three  weeks." 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  1 27 

Elfride  assented  pleasantly,  even  gladly  ;  but  she  saw 
that,  by  this  marriage,  her  father  and  herself  had  ceased 
forever  to  be  the  close  relations  they  had  been  up  to  a  few 
weeks  ago.  It  was  impossible  now  to  tell  him  the  tale  of 
her  wild  elopement  with  Stephen  Smith. 

He  was  still  snugly  housed  in  her  heart.  His  absence 
had  regained  for  him  much  of  that  aureola  of  saintship 
which  had  been  nearly  abstracted  during  her  reproachful 
mood  on  that  miserable  journey  from  London.  Rapture  is 
often  cooled  by  contact  with  its  cause,  especially  if  under 
awkward  conditions.  And  that  last  experience  with  Ste- 
phen had  done  anything  but  make  him  shine  in  her  eyes. 
His  very  kindness  in  letting  her  return  was  his  offence. 
Elfride  had  her  sex's  love  of  sheer  force  in  a  man,  however 
ill-directed  ;  and  at  that  critical  juncture  in  London,  Ste- 
phen's only  chance  of  retaining  the  ascendency  over  her 
that  his  face  and  not  his  parts  had  acquired  for  him,  would 
have  been  by  doing  what,  for  one  thing,  he  was  too  youth- 
ful to  undertake — that  was,  dragging  her  by  the  wrist  to 
the  rails  of  some  altar,  and  peremptorily  marrying  her. 
Decisive  action  is  seen  by  appreciative  minds  to  be  fre- 
quently objectless,  and  sometimes  fatal ;  but  decision, 
however  suicidal,  has  more  charm  for  a  woman  than  the 
most  unequivocal  Fabian  success. 

However,  some  of  the  unpleasant  accessories  of  that 
occasion  were  now  out  of  sight  again,  and  Stephen  had  re* 
sumed  not  a  few  of  his  fancy  colors. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  HE  SET  IN  ORDER  MANY  PROVERBS." 

IT  is  London  in  October — two  months  farther  on  in  the 
story. 

Bede's  Inn  has  this  peculiarity,  that  it  faces,  receives 
from,  and  discharges  into  a  bustling  thoroughfare  speaking 
only  of  wealth  and  respectability,  while  its  postern  abuts 
on  as  crowded  and  poverty-stricken  a  network  of  alleys  as 
are  to  be  found  anywhere  in  the  metropolis.  The  moral 
consequences  are,  first,  that  those  who  occupy  chambers  in 
the  Inn  may  see  a  great  deal  of  shirtless  humanity's  habits 
and  enjoyments  without  doing  more  than  look  down  from 
a  back  window ;  and  second,  they  may  hear  wholesome 
though  unpleasant  social  reminders  through  the  medium 
of  a  harsh  voice,  an  unequal  footstep,  the  echo  of  a  blow  or 
a  fall,  which  originates  in  the  person  of  some  drunkard 
or  wife-beater,  as  he  crosses  and  interferes  with  the  quiet 
of  the  square.  Characters  of  this  kind  frequently  pass 
through  the  Inn  from  a  little  fox-hole  of  an  alley  at  the 
back,  but  they  never  loiter  there. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  state  that  all  the  sights  and 
movements  proper  to  the  Inn  are  most  orderly.  On  the 
fine  October  evening  on  which  we  follow  Stephen  Smith  to 
this  place,  a  placid  porter  is  sitting  on  a  stool  under  a 
sycamore  tree  in  the  midst,  with  a  little  cane  in  his  hand. 
We  notice  the  thick  coat  of  soot  upon  the  branches,  hang- 
ing underneath  them  in  flakes,  as  in  the  chimney.  The 
blackness  of  these  boughs  does  not  at  present  improve  the 
tree — nearly  forsaken  by  its  leaves  as  it  is — but  in  the 
spring  their  green  fresh  beauty  is  made  doubly  beautiful  by 
the  contrast.  Within  the  railings  is  a  flower-garden  of  re- 
Sj^ectable  dahlias  and  chrysanthemums,  where  a  man  is 
sweeping  the  leaves  from  the  grass. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


129 


Stephen  selects  a  doorway,  and  ascends  an  old  though 
wide  wooden  staircase,  with  moulded  balusters  and  hand- 
rail, which  in  a  country  manor-house  would  be  considered 
a  noteworthy  specimen  of  Renaissance  workmanship.  He 
reaches  a  door  on  the  first  floor,  over  which  is  painted,  in 
black  letters,  "  Mr.  Henry  Knight."  The  wall  is  thick,  and 
there  is  a  door  at  its  outer  and  inner  face.  The  outer  one 
happens  to  be  ajar:  Stephen  goes  to  the  other,  and  taps. 

"  Come  in  !  "  from  distant  penetralia. 

First  was  a  small  ante-room,  divided  from  the  inner 
apartment  by  a  wainscotted  archway  two  or  three  yards 
wide.  Across  this  archway  hung  a  pair  of  dark-green  cur- 
tains, making  a  mystery  of  all  within  the  arch,  except  the 
spasmodic  scratching  of  a  quill-pen.  Here  was  grouped  a 
chaotic  assemblage  of  articles — mainly  old  framed  prints 
and  paintings — leaning  edgewise  against  the  wall,  like 
roofing-slates  in  a  builder's  yard.  AH  the  books  visible 
here  were  folios  too  big  to  be  stolen — some  lying  on  a 
heavy  oak  table  in  one  corner,  some  on  the  floor  among  the 
pictures,  the  whole  intermingled  with  old  coats,  hats,  um- 
brellas, and  walking-sticks. 

Stephen  pushed  aside  the  curtain,  and  before  him  sat  a 
man,  writing  away  as  if  his  life  depended  upon  it — which 
it  did. 

A  man  of  thirty  in  a  speckled  coat,  with  dark-brown 
hair,  curly  beard,  and  crisp  moustache :  the  latter  running 
into  the  beard  on  each  side  of  the  mouth,  and,  as  usual, 
hiding  the  real  expression  of  that  organ  under  a  chronic  as- 
pect of  impassivity. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  fellow,  I  knew  'twas  you,"  said  Knight, 
looking  up  with  a  smile,  and  holding  out  his  hand. 

Knight's  mouth  and  eyes  came  to  view  now.  Both  fea- 
tures were  good,  and  had  the  peculiarity  of  appearing  younger 
arid  fresher  than  the  brow  and  face  they  belonged  to,  which 
were  getting  sicklied  o'er  by  the  unmistakable  pale  cast. 
The  mouth  had  not  quite  relinquished  rotundity  of  curve 
for  the  firm  angularities  of  middle  life ;  and  the  eyes, 
though  keen,  permeated  rather  than  penetrated  :  what  they 
had  lost  of  their  boytime  brightness  by  a  dozen  years  of 
hard  reading  lending  a  quietness  to  their  gaze  which  suited 
them  well. 

6* 


130  A  P^IR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

A  lady  would  have  said  there  was  a  smell  of  tobacco  in 
the  room  ;  a  man  that  there  was  not. 

Knight  did  not  rise.  He  looked  at  a  time-piece  on  the 
mantel-shelf,  then  turned  again  to  his  letters,  pointing  to  a 
chair. 

'•  Well,  I  am  glad  you  have  come.  I  only  returned  to 
town  yesterday  :  now  don't  speak,  Stephen,  for  ten  min- 
utes ;  I  have  just  that  time  to  the  late  post.  At  the  eleventh 
minute,  I'm  your  man." 

Stephen  sat  down  as  if  this  kind  of  reception  was  by  no 
means  new,  and  away  went  Knight's  pen,  beating  up  and 
down  like  a  ship  in  a  storm. 

Cicero  called  the  library  the  soul  of  the  house  ;  here 
the  house  was  all  soul.  Portions  of  the  floor,  and  half  the 
wall-space,  were  taken  up  by  book-shelves  ordinary  and  ex- 
traordinary ;  the  remaining  parts,  together  with  brackets, 
side-tables,  etc.,  being  occupied  by  casts,  statuettes,  me- 
dallions, and  plaques  of  various  descriptions,  picked  up  by 
the  owner  in  his  wanderings  through  France  and  Italy. 

One  stream  only  of  evening  sunlight  came  into  the  room 
from  a  window  quite  in  the  corner,  overlooking  a  court. 
An  aquarium  stood  in  the  window.  It  was  a  dull  parallelo- 
pipedon  enough  for  living  creatures  at  most  hours  of  the 
day  ;  but  for  a  few  minutes  in  the  evening,  as  now,  an  er- 
rant kindly  ray  lighted  up  and  warmed  the  little  world 
therein  when  the  many-colored  zoophytes  opened  and  put 
forth  their  arms,  the  weeds  acquired  a  rich  transparency, 
the  shells  gleamed  of  a  more  golden  yellow,  and  the  little 
community  expressed  gladness  more  plainly  than  in  words. 

Within  the  prescribed  ten  minutes,  Knight  flung  down 
his  pen,  rang  for  the  boy  to  take  the  letters  to  the  post,  and 
at  the  closing  of  the  door  exclaimed,  "  There  ;  thank  God, 
tiiat's  done.  Now,  Stephen,  pull  your  chair  round,  and  tell 
me  what  you  have  been  doing  all  this  time.  Have  you 
kept  up  your  Greek  ?  " 

*'  No." 

"How's  that.?" 

"  I  haven't  enough  spare  time." 

"  That's    nonsense." 

"  Well,  I  have  done  a  great  many  things,  if  not  that 
And  I  have  done  one  extraordinary  thing." 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 


131 


Knight  turned  full  upon  Stephen.  "  A-ha  !  Now  then, 
let  me  look  into  your  face,  put  two  and  two  together,  and 
make  a  shrewd  guess." 

Stephen  changed  to  a  redder  color. 

*'Why,  Smith,"  said  Knight,  after  holding  him  rigidly 
by  the  shoulders,  and  keenly  scrutinizing  his  countenance 
for  a  minute  in  silence,  "  you  have  fallen  in  love." 

*'  Well— the  fact  is—" 

"Now,  out  with  it."  But  seeing  that  Stephen  looked 
rather  distressed,  he  changed  to  a  kindly  tone.  *'  Now, 
Smith,  my  lad,  you  know  me  well  enough  by  this  time,  01 
you  ought  to  ;  and  you  know  very  well  that  if  you  choose 
to  give  me  a  detailed  account  of  the  phenomenon  within 
you,  I  shall  listen ;  if  you  don't,  I  am  the  last  man  in  the 
world  to  care  to  hear  it." 

"  I'll  tell  thus  much  !  I  have  fallen  in  love,  and  I  want 
to  be  married.'^ 

"  Knight  looked  rather  ominously  as  this  passed  Ste- 
phens' lips. 

"  Don't  judge  me  before  you  have  heard  more,"  cried 
Stephen  anxiously,  seeing  the  change  in  his  friend's  coun- 
tenance. 

"  I  don't  judge.     Does  your  mother  know  about  it  ?  '* 

"  Nothing  definite." 

<' Father?" 

"  No.     But  I'll  tell  you.     The  young  person — " 

*'  Come,  that's  dreadfully  ungallant.  But  perhaps  I  un- 
derstand the  frame  of  mind  a  little,  so  go  on.  Your  sweet- 
heart—" ^ 

"  She  is  rather  higher  in  the  world  than  me." 

"  As  it  should  be." 

"  And  her  father  won't  hear  of  it,  as  I  now  stand." 

"  Not  an  uncommon  case." 

"  And  now  comes  what  I  want  vour  advice  upon. 
Something  has  happened  at  her  house  which  makes  it  out 
of  the  question  for  us  to  ask  her  father  again  now.  So  we 
are  keeping  silent.  In  the  meantime  an  architect  in  India 
has  just  written  to  Mr.  Hewby  to  ask  whether  he  can  find 
for  him  a  young  assistant  willing  to  go  over  to  Bombay  to 
prepare  drawings  for  work  formerly  done  by  the  engineers. 
The  salary  he  offers  is  350  rupees  a  month,  or  about  35/. 


132 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


Hevvby  has  mentioned  it  to  me,  and  I  have  been  to  Dr. 
Wray,  who  says  I  shall  acclimatize  without  much  illness. 
Now,  would  you  go  ?  " 

"  You  mean  to  say,  because  it  is  a  possible  road  to  the 
young  lady." 

"  Yes ;  I  was  thinking  I  could  go  over  and  make  a  little 
money,  and  then  come  back  and  ask  for  her.  I  have  the 
option  of  practicing  for  myself  after  a  year." 

"  Would  she  be  stanch  ?  " 

"  O,  yes  !     Forever — to  the  end  of  her  life  !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Why,  how  do  people  know  ?     Of  course  she  will." 

Knight  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  *'  Now,  though  I 
know  her  thoroughly  as  she  exists  in  your  heart,  Stephen, 
I  don't  know  her  in  the  flesh.  All  I  want  to  ask  is,  is  this 
idea  of  going  to  India  based  entirely  upon  a  belief  in  her 
fidelity  ?^" 

"  Yes  ;  I  should  not  go  if  it  were  not  for  her." 

"  Well,  Stephen,  you  have  put  me  in  rather  an  awkward 
position.  If  I  give  my  true  sentiments,  I  shall  hurt  your 
feelings ;  if  T  don't,  I  shall  hurt  my  own  judgment.  And 
remember,  I  don't  know  much  about  women." 

"  But  you  have  had  sweethearts,  although  you  tell  me 
very  little  about  them." 

"And  I  only  hope  you'll  continue  to  prosper  till  I  tell 
you  more." 

Stephen  winced  at  this  rap.  "  I  have  never  formed  a 
deep  attachment,"  continued  Knight.  "  I  never  have  found 
a  woman  worth  it.  Nor  have  I  been  once  engaged  to  be 
married." 

*'  You  write  as  if  you  had  been  engaged  a  hundred  times, 
if  I  may  be  allowed  to  say  so,"  said  Stephen  in  an  injured 
tone. 

"  Yes,  that  may  be.  But,  my  dear  Stephen,  it  is  only 
those  who  half  know  a  thing  that  write  about  it.  Those 
who  know  it  thoroughly  don't  take  the  trouble.  All  I 
know  about  women,  or  men  either,  is  a  mass  of  generali- 
ties. I  plod  along,  and  occasionally  lift  my  eyes  and  skim 
the  weltering  surface  of  mankind  lying  between  me  and 
the  horizon,  as  a  crow  might ;  no  more." 

Knight  stopped  as  if  he  had  fallen  into  a  train  of 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  J^YES. 


133 


thought,  and  Stephen  looked  with  affectionate  awe  at  a 
master  whose  mind  he  believed  could  swallow  up  at  one 
meal  all  his  own  head  contained. 

There  was  affective  sympathy,  but  no  great  intellectual 
fellowship,  between  Knight  and  Stephen  Smith.  Knight 
had  seen  his  young  friend  when  the  latter  was  a  cherry- 
cheeked  happy  boy,  had  been  interested  in  him,  had  kept 
his  eye  upon  him,  and  generously  helped  the  lad  to  books, 
till  the  mere  connection  of  patronage  grew  to  acquaint- 
ance, and  that  ripened  to  friendship.  And  so,  though 
Smith  was  not  at  all  the  man  Knight  would  have  deliber- 
ately chosen  as  a  friend — or  even  for  one  of  a  group  of  a 
dozen  friends — he  somehow  was  his  friend.  Circum- 
stances, as  usual,  did  it  all.  How  many  of  us  can  say  of 
our  most  intimate  alter  ego,  leaving  alone  friends  of  the 
outer  circle,  that  he  is  the  man  we  should  have  chosen,  as 
the  net  result  after  adding  up  all  the  points  in  human 
nature  that  we  love,  and  principles  we  ourselves  hold,  and 
subtracting  all  that  we  hate  ?  The  man  is  really  some- 
body we  got  to  know  by  mere  physical  juxtaposition  long 
maintained,  and  was  taken  into  our  confidence,  and  even 
heart,  as  a  makeshift. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  her  ?  "  Stephen  ventured 
to  say,  after  a  silence. 

"  Taking  her  merits  on  trust  from  you,"  said  Knight, 
"  as  we  do  those  of  the  Roman  poets,  of  whom  we  know 
nothing  but  that  they  lived,  I  think  that  she  will  not  stick 
to  you  through,  say,  three  years  of  absence  in  India." 

"  But  she  will  !  "  cried  Stephen  desperately.  "  She  is 
a  girl  all  delicacy  and  honor.  And  no  woman  of  tliat 
kind,  who  has  committed  herself  so  into  a  man's  hands  as 
she  has  into  mine,  could  possibly  marry  another." 

"  How  has  she  committed  herself? "  asked  Knight 
curiously. 

Stephen  did  not  answer.  Knight  had  looked  on  his 
love  so  sceptically  that  it  would  not  do  to  say  all  he  had 
intended  by  any  means. 

"  Well,  d^n't  tell,"  said  Knight.  "  But  you  are  beg- 
ging the  question,  which  is,  I  suppose,  inevitable  in 
love?" 

"And   I'll   tell  you  another  thing,"  the  younger  man 


124  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

pleaded.  "  You  remember  what  you  said  to  me  once 
about  women  receiving  a  kiss.  Don't  you  ?  ^  Why,  that 
instead  of  our  being  charmed  by  the  fascination  of  their 
bearing  at  such  a  time,  we  should  immediately  doubt  them 
if  their  confusion  has  any  grace  in  it — that  aw^kward  bun- 
gling was  the  true  charm  at  such  a  time,  implying  that  we 
are  the  first  who  has  played  such  a  part  with  them." 

"  It  is  true,  quite,"  said  Knight  musingly. 

It  often  happened  that  the  disciple  thus  remembered 
the  lessons  of  the  master  long  after  the  master  himself  had 
forgotten  them. 

"  Well,  that  was  like  her !  "  cried  Stephen  triumph- 
antl}^  "  She  was  in  such  a  flurry  that  she  didn't  know 
what  she  was  doing." 

"  Splendid,  splendid  !  "  said  Knight  soothingly.  "  So 
that  all  I  have  to  say  is,  that  if  you  see  a  good  opening  in 
Bombay  there's  no  reason  why  you  should  not  go  without 
troubling  to  draw  fine  distinctions  as  to  reasons.  No  man 
fully  realizes  what  opinions  he  acts  upon,  or  what  his 
actions  mean." 

"  Yes  ;  I  go  to  Bombay.  I'll  write  a  note  here,  if  you 
don't  mind." 

"  Sleep  over  it — it  is  the  best  plan — and  write  to-raor- 
row.  Meantime,  go  there  to  that  window  and  sit  down, 
and  look  at  my  Humanity  Show.  I  am  going  to  dine  out 
this  evening,  and  have  to  dress  here  out  of  my  portman- 
teau. I  bring  up  my  things  Hke  this  to  save  the  trouble 
of  going  down  to  my  place  at  Richmond  and  back  again." 

Knight  then  went  to  the  middle  of  the  room  and  flung 
open  his  portmanteau,  and  Stephen  drew  near  the  window. 
The  streak  of  sunlight  had  crept  upward,  edged  away,  and 
vanished;  the  zojphytes  slept:  a  dusky  gloom  pervaded 
the  room.  And  now  another  volume  of  light  shone  over 
the  window. 

*'  There  !  "  said  Knight,  "where  is  there  in  England  a 
spectacle  to  equal  that  ?  I  sit  there  and  watch  them  every 
night  before  I  go  home.     Softly  open  the  sash." 

Beneath  them  was  an  alley  running  up  to  the  wall,  and 
thence  turning  sideways  and  passing  under  an  arch,  so 
that  Knight's  back  window  was  immediately  over  the 
angle,   and  commanded  a  view  of  the  alley  lengthwise. 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES. 


135 


Crowds — mostly  of  women — were  surging,  bustling,  and 
pacing  up  and  down.  Gaslights  glared  from  butchers* 
stalls,  illuminating  the  lumps  of  flesh  to  splotches  of 
orangd  and  vermilion,  like  the  wild  coloring  of  Turner's 
later  pictuxes,  while  the  purl  and  babble  of  tongues  of 
every  pitch'  and  mood  was  to  this  human  wild  wood  what 
the  ripple  of  a  brook  is  to  the  natural  forest. 

Nearly  ten  minutes  passed.  Then  Knight  also  came 
to  the  window. 

"  Well,  now,  I  call  a  cab  and  vanish  down  the  street  in 
the  direction  of  Berkeley-square,"  he  said,  buttoning  his 
waistcoat,  and  kicking  his  morning  suit  into  a  corner. 
Stephen  rose  to  leave. 

"  What  a  heap  of  literature  ! "  remarked  the  young 
man,  taking  a  final  longing  survey  round  the  room,  as  if 
to  abide  there  forever  would  be  the  great  pleasure  of  his 
life,  yet  feeling  that  he  had  almost  outstaid  his  welcome- 
while.  His  eyes  rested  upon  an  arm-chair  piled  full  of 
newspapers,  magazines,  and  bright  new  volumes  in  green 
and  red. 

"Yes,"  said  Knight,  also  looking  at  them  and  breath- 
ing a  sigh  of  weariness  ;  "something  must  be  done  with 
several  of  them  soon,  I  suppose.  Stephen,  you  needn't 
hurry  away  for  a  few  minutes,  you  know,  if  you  want  to 
stay ;  I  am  not  quite  ready.  Overhaul  those  volumes 
while  I  put  on  my  coat,  and  I'll  walk  a  little  way  with 
you." 

Stephen  sat  down  beside  the  arm-chair  and  began  to 
tumble  the  books  about.  Among  the  rest  he  found  a  nov- 
elette in  one  volume,  The  Court  of  Kellyon  Castle.  By 
Ernest  Field. 

"Are  you  going  to  review  this?"  inquired  Stephen 
with  apparent  unconcern,  and  holding  up  Elfride's  effu 
sion. 

"  Which  1  O,  that !  I  may — though  I  don't  do  much 
reviewing  now.     But  it  is  reviewable." 

"  How  do  you  mean?  " 

Knight  never  liked  to  be  asked  what  he  meant. 
"  Mean  !  I  mean  that  the  majority  of  books  published  are 
neither  good  enough  nor  bad  enough  to  provoke  criticism, 
and  that  that  book  does  provoke  it." 


136  ^  P^If^  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

"  By  its  goodness  or  its  badness  ? "  Stephen  said,  with 
some  anxiety  on  poor  little  Elfride's  score. 

"  Its  badness.  It  seems  to  be  written  by  some  girl  in 
her  teens." 

Stephen  said  not  another  word.  He  did  not  care  to 
speak  plainly  of  Elffide  after  that  unfortunate  slip  his 
tongue  had  made  with  regard  to  her  having  committed 
herself;  and,  apart  from  that,  Knight's  severe — almost 
dogged  and  self-willed — honesty  in  criticising  was  unas- 
sailable by  the  humble  wish  of  a  youthful  friend  like 
Stephen. 

Knight  was  now  ready.  Turning  off  the  gas,  and  slam- 
ming together  the  door,  they  vvent  down  the  stairs  and  into 
the  street. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

"WE    FROLIC    WHILE    'TIS    MAY." 

IT  has  now  to  be  not  only  supposed  but  clearly  realized 
that  nearly  three-quarters  of  a  year  have  passed  away. 
In  place  of  the  autumnal  scenery  that  formed  a  setting  to 
the  previous  enactments,  we  have  now  before  us  the  summer 
of  the  year  following. 

Stephen  is  in  India,  slaving  away  at  an  office  in  Bombay  ; 
occasionally  going  up  the  country  on  professional  errands, 
and  wondering  why  people  complained  so  much  of  the  effect 
of  the  climate  upon  their  constitutions.  Never  had  a  young 
man  a  finer  start  than  seemed  now  to  present  itself  to  Ste- 
phen. It  was  just  in  that  exceptional  heyday  of  prosperity 
which  shone  over  Bombay,  about  ten  years  ago,  that  he 
arrived  on  the  scene.  Building  and  engineering  partook 
of  the  general  impetus.  Speculation  moved  with  an  accel- 
erated velocity  every  successive  day,  the  only  disagreeable 
contingency  connected  with  it  being  the  possibility  of  a 
capsize. 

Elfride  had  never  told  her  father  of  the  four-and-twenly 
hours'  escapade  with  Stephen,  nor  had  it,  to  her  knowledge, 
come  to  his  ears  by  any  other  route.  It  was  a  secret  trouble 
and  grief  to  the  girl  for  a  short  time,  and  Stephen's  depart- 
ure was  another  ingredient  in  her  sorrow.  But  Elfride 
possessed  special  facilities  for  getting  rid  of  trouble  after  a 
decent  interval.  While  a  slow  nature  was  imbibing  a  mis- 
fortune little  by  little,  she  had  swallowed  the  whole  agony 
of  it  at  a  draught  and  was  brightening  again.  She  could 
slough  off  a  sadness  and  replace  it  by  a  hope  as  easily  as  a 
lizard  renews  a  diseased  limb. 

And  two  such  excellent  distractions  had  presented  them 
selves.  One  was  bringing  out  the  romance  and  looking  for 
notices  in  the  papers,  which,  though  they  had  been  signifi 


138  ^  J^AIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

cantly  short  so  far,  had  served  to  divert  her  thoughts.  The 
other  was  migrating  from  the  vicarage  to  the  more  commo- 
dious old  house  of  Mrs.  Swancourt  overlooking  the  same 
valley.  Mr.  Swancourt  at  first  disliked  the  idea  of  trans- 
plantation to  feminine  soil,  but  the  obvious  advantages  of 
such  an  accession  of  dignity  reconciled  him  to  the  change. 
So  there  was  a  radical  "  move  ;  "  tiie  two  ladies  staying  at 
Torquay  as  had  been  arranged,  the  vicar  going  to  and  fro. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  considerably  enlarged  Elfride's  ideas  in 
an  aristocratic  direction,  and  she  began  to  forgive  her  father 
for  his  politic  marriage.  Certainly,  in  a  worldly  sense,  a 
handsome  face  at  three-and-forty  had  never  served  a  man  in 
better  stead. 

The  new  house  at  Kensington  was  ready,  and  they  were 
all  in  town. 

The  Hyde-Park  shrubs  had  been  transplanted  as  usual, 
the  chairs  ranked  in  line,  the  grass  edgings  trimmed,  the 
roads  made  to  look  as  if  they  were  suffering  from  a  heavy 
thunderstorm ;  carriages  had  been  called  for  the  easeful, 
horses  for  the  brisk,  and  the  Drive  and  Row  were  again  the 
groove  of  gayety  for  an  hour.  We  gaze  upon  the  spectacle, 
at  six  o'clock  on  this  midsummer  afternoon,  in  a  melon- 
frame  atmosphere  and  beneath  a  violet  sky.  The  Swan- 
court equipage  formed  one  in  the  stream. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  was  a  talker  of  talk  of  the  incisive  kind, 
which  her  low  musical  voice — the  only  beautiful  point  in  the 
old  woman — prevented  from  being  wearisome. 

"  Now,"  she  said  to  Elfride,  who,  like  ^neas  at  Car- 
thage, was  full  of  admiration  for  the  brilliant  scene,  "you  will 
find  that  our  companionless  state  will  give  us,  as  it  does 
everybody,  an  extraordinary  power  in  reading  the  features 
of  our  fellow-creatures  here.  I  always  am  a  listener  in  such 
places  as  these — not  to  the  narratives  told  by  my  neighbors* 
tongues,  but  by  their  faces — the  advantage  of  which  is,  that 
whether  I  am  in  Row,  Boulevard,  Rialto,  or  Prado,  the/  all 
speak  the  same  language.  I  may  have  acquired  some  skill 
in  this  practice  through  having  been  an  ugly  lonely  woman 
for  so  many  years,  with  nobody  to  give  me  information  ;  a 
thing  you  will  not  consider  strange  when  the  parallel  case 
is  borne  in  mind, — how  truly  people  who  have  no  clocks 
will  tell  the  time  of  day.'* 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 


139 


"  Ay,  that  they  will,"  said  Mr.  Swancourt  corroboratively. 
"I  have  known  laboring  men  at  Endelstovv  and  other  farms 
who  had  framed  complete  systems  of  observation  for  that 
purpose.  By  means  of  shadows,  winds,  clouds,  the  move- 
ments of  sheep  and  oxen,  the  singing  of  birds,  the  crowing 
of  cocks,  and  a  hundred  other  sights  and  sounds  which  peo- 
ple with  watches  in  their  pockets  never  know  the  existence 
of,  they  are  able  to  pronounce  within  ten  minutes  of  the 
hour  almost  at  any  required  instant.  That  reminds  me  of 
an  old  story  which  I'm  afraid  is  too  bad — too  bad  to  re- 
peat." Here  the  vicar  shook  his  head  and  laughed  in- 
wardly. 

"  Tell  it— do  I  "  said  the  ladies. 

'*  I  mustn't  quite  tell  it." 

"  That's  absurd,"  said  Mrs.  Swancourt. 

"It  was  only  about  a  man  who, by  the  same  careful  sys- 
tem of  observation,  was  known  to  deceive  persons  for  more 
than  two  years  into  the  belief  that  he  kept  a  barometer  by 
stealth,  so  exactly  did  he  foretell  all  changes  in  the  weather 
by  the  braying  of  his  ass  and  the  temper  of  his  wife." 

Elfride  laughed. 

"  Exactly,"  said  Mrs.  Swancourt.  "And  in  just  the 
way  that  those  learnt  the  signs  of  nature,  I  have  learnt  the 
language  of  her  illegitimate  sister — artificiality ;  and  the 
fibbing  of  eyes,  the  contempt  of  nose  tips,  the  indignation 
of  back  hair,  the  laughter  of  clothes,  the  cynicism  of  foot- 
steps, and  the  various  emotions  lying  in  walking-stick  twirls, 
hat-liftings,  the  elevation  of  parasols,  the  carriage  of  um- 
brellas, become  as  A  B  C  to  me." 

"Just  look  at  that  daughterVeldest-sister  class  of  mam- 
ma in  the  carriage  across  there,"  she  continued  to  Elfride, 
pointing  with  merely  a  turn  of  her  eye.  "  The  absorbing 
iself  consciousness  of  her  position  that  is  shown  by  her  coun- 
tenance is  most  humiliating  to  a  lover  of  one's  country.  You 
would  hardly  believe,  would  you,  that  members  of  a  fash- 
ionable world,  whose  professed  zero  is  far  above  the  highest 
degree  of  the  humble,  could  be  so  ignorant  of  the  element- 
ary instincts  of  reticence." 

"  How  ?  "  . 

"  Why,  to  bear  on  their  faces,  as  plainly  as  on  a  phylac- 
tery, the  inscription,  '  Do,  pray,  look  at  the  coronet  on  niv 


1^0  ^  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

panels  ;  or,  *  Look  at  the  leaves  and  pearls  in  my  coronet ;' 
or,  'Look  at  the  leaves  pure  and  unmixed  in  mine.  I  don't 
say,'  they  seem  to  go  on  saying  to  the  shabby  people, '  that 
I  wish  you  to  think  us  connected  with  the  Norman  Conquest 
of  you,  wretched  Nobody-knows-who,'  or  whatever  the  word 
of  the  season  is  for  the  poorer  inhabitants  of  the  country, 
*but  we  are,  and  there  is  our  crest  and  significant  motto.' " 

"  O,  Mrs.  Swancourt!"  said  Elfride. 

*'  But  I  much  prefer  the  manners  of  my  acquaintance  of 
that  class  to  the  way  some  of  us,  with  no  title  but  much 
wealth,  look  at  the  strugglers  for  gentility.  There's  a  speci- 
men— there's  another.  The  glance  in  them  is  modified  to 
'O,  moneyless  ones,  this  bracelet  I  wear,  weighing  three- 
quarters  of  a  pound,  is  real  gold  !  Solid  you  know — 
s,  o,  1,  i,  d, — right  through  the  middle  and  out  at  the  other 
side.' " 

"  Really,  Charlotte,"  said  the  vicar,  "  you  see  as  much 
in  faces  as  Mr.  Puff  saw  in  Lord  Burleigh's  nod." 

Elfride  could  not  but  admire  the  beauty  of  her  fellow- 
countrywomen,  especially  since  herself  and  her  own  few  ac- 
quaintances had  always  been  slightly  sunburnt  or  marked 
on  the  back  of  the  hands  by  a  bramble  scratch  at  this  time 
of  the  year. 

"  And  what  lovely  flowers  and  leaves  they  wear  in  their 
bonnets  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  O,  yes,"  returned  Mrs.  Swancourt.  "  Some  of  them 
are  even  more  striking  in  color  than  any  real  ones.  Look  at 
that  beautiful  rose  worn  by  the  lady  inside  the  rails.  Ele- 
gant vine-tendrils  introduced  upon  the  stem  as  an  improve 
ment  upon  prickles,  and  all  growing  so  naturally  just  over 
her  ear — I  say  growing  advisedly,  for  the  pink  of  the  petals 
and  the  pink  of  her  handsome  cheeks  are  equally  from  Na- 
ture's hand  to  the  eyes  of  the  most  casual  observer." 

"  But  praise  them  a  little,  they  do  deserve  it  ! "  said  gen« 
erous  Elfride. 

"  Well,  I  do.     See  how  the  Duchess  of waves  to  and 

fro  in  her  seat,  utilizing  the  sway  of  her  barouche  by  looking 
forward  only  when  her  head  is  swung  forward,  with  a  pas- 
sive pride  which  forbids  a  resistance  to  the  force  of  circum- 
stance. Look  at  the  pretty  pout  on  the  mouths  of  that  fam- 
ily there,  retaining  no  traces  of  be'ng  arranged  beforehand, 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


141 


SO  well  is  it  done.  Look  at  the  demure  close  of  the  little  fists 
holding  the  parasols  ;  the  tiny  alert  thumb,  sticking  up  erect 
against  the  ivory  stem  as  knowing  as  can  be,  the  satin  of 
the  parasol  invariably  matching  the  complexion  of  the  face 
beneath  it,  yet  seemingly  by  an  accident,  which  makes  the 
thing  so  attractive.  There's  the  red  book  lying  on  the  op- 
posite seat,  bespeaking  the  vast  numbers  of  their  acquaint- 
ance. And  I  particularly  admire  the  aspect  of  that  abun- 
dantly-daughtered  woman  on  the  other  side — I  mean  her 
look  of  unconsciousness  that  the  girls  are  stared  at  by  the 
walkers,  and  above  all,  the  look  of  the  girls  themselves — 
losing  their  gaze  in  the  depths  of  handsome  men's  eyes 
without  appearing  to  notice  whether  they  are  observing  mas- 
culine eyes  or  the  leaves  of  the  trees.  There's  praise  for 
you.     But  I  am  only  jesting,  child — you  know  that." 

*'  Piph-ph-ph — how  warm  it  is,  to  be  sure  !  "  said  Mr. 
Swancourt,  as  if  his  mind  were  a  long  distance  from  all  he 
saw.  "  I  declare  that  my  watch  is  so  hot  that  I  can  scarce- 
ly bear  to  touch  it  to  see  what  the  time  is,  and  all  the  world 
smells  like  the  inside  of  a  hat." 

"  How  the  men  stare  at  you,  Elfride  ! "  said  the  eldei 
lady.     "  You  w^'Il  kill  me  quite,  I  am  afraid." 

"  Kill  you  ?  " 

"  As  a  diamond  kills  an  opal  in  the  same  setting." 

"  I  have  noticed  several  ladies  and  gentlemen  looking 
at  me,"  said  Elfride,  artlessly  showing  her  pleasure  at  being 
observed. 

"  My  dear,  you  mustn't  say  '  gentlemen  '  now-a-days," 
her  step-mother  answered  in  the  tones  of  mock  dignity  that 
so  well  became  her.  "  We  have  handed  over  '  gentle- 
men '  to  the  lower  middle  class,  where  the  word  is  still  to  be 
heard  at  tradesmen's  balls  and  provincial  tea-parties.  It  is 
done  with  here." 

"  What  must  I  say,  then  ?  " 

"  Ladies  and  inen^  always." 

At  this  moment  appeared  in  the  stream  of  vehicles  mov- 
ing in  the  contrary  direction  a  chariot  presenting  in  its  gen- 
eral surface  the  rich  indigo  hue  of  a  midnight  sky,  the 
wheels  and  margins  being  picked  out  in  delicate  lines  of 
French  blue  ;  the  servants'  liveries  were  dark-blue  coats 
and  silver  lace,  and  breeches  of  neutral  Indian  red.     The 


142  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

whole  concern  formed  an  organic  whole,  and  moved  along 
behind  a  pair  of  dark-chestnut  geldings,  who  advanced  in 
an  inditTerently  zealous  trot,  very  daintily  performed,  and 
occasionally  shrugged  divers  points  of  their  veiny  surface  as 
if  they  were  rather  above  the  business. 

In  this  sat  a  gentleman  with  no  decided  characteristics 
more  than  that  he  somewhat  resembled  a  good-natured  com- 
mercial traveller  of  the  superior  class.  Beside  him  was  a 
lady  with  skim-milky  eyes  and  complexion,  belonging  to  the 
interesting  class  of  women,  where  that  class  merges  in  the 
sickly,  her  greatest  pleasure  being  apparently  to  enjoy  noth- 
ing. Opposite  this  pair  sat  two  little  girls  in  white  hats  and 
blue  feathers. 

The  lady  saw  Elfride,  smiled  and  bowed,  and  touched 
her  husband's  elbow,  who  turned  and  received  Elfride's 
movement  of  recognition  with  a  gallant  elevation  of  his  hat. 
Then  the  two  children  held  up  their  arms  to  Elfride,  and 
laughed  gleefully. 

"  Who  is  that  ? " 

"  Why,  Lord  Luxellian,  isn't  it?"  said  Mrs.  Swancourt, 
who,  with  the  vicar,  had  been  seated  with  her  back  towards 
them. 

"Yes,"  replied  Elfride.  "  He  is  the  one  man  of  those  I 
have  seen  here  whom  I  consider  handsomer  than  papa." 

"  Thank  you,  dear,"  said  Mr.  Swancourt. 

"  Yes  ;  but  your  father  is  so  much  older.  When  Lord 
Luxellian  gets  a  little  farther  on  in  life,  he  won't  be  half  so 
good-looking  as  our  man." 

"Thank  you,  dear,  likewise,"  said  Mr.  Swancourt. 

"  See,"  exclaimed  Elfride,  still  looking  towards  them, 
"  how  those  little  dears  want  me  1  Actually  one  of  them  is 
crying  for  me  to  come." 

"  We  were  talking  of  bracelets  just  now.  Look  at  Lady 
Luxellian's,"  said  Mrs.  Swancourt,  as  the  Baroness  lifted  up 
her  arm  to  support  one  of  the  children.  "  It  is  slipping  up 
her  arm — too  large  by  half.  I  hate  to  see  daylight  between  a 
bracelet  and  a  wrist;  I  wonder  women  haven't  better  taste.'* 

"  It  is  not  on  that  account,  indeed,"  Elfride  expostulated. 
"  It  is  that  her  arm  has  got  thin,  poor  thing.  You  cannot 
think  how  much  she  has  altered  in  this  last  twelvemonth." 

The  carriages  were  now  near  ^  together,  and  there  was 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES.  X43 

an  exchange  of  more  familiar  greetings  between  the  two 
families.  Then  the  Luxellians  crossed  over  and  drew  up 
under  the  plane-tree,  just  in  the  rear  of  the  Swancourts. 
Lord  Luxellian  alighted,  and  came  forward  with  a  musical 
laugh. 

It  v/as  his  attraction,  as  a  man.  People  liked  him  for 
those  tones,  and  forgot  that  he  had  no  talents.  Acquaint- 
ances remembered  Mr.  Swancourt  by  his  manner  ;  they  re- 
membered Stephen  Smith  by  his  face,  Lord  Luxellian  by  his 
laugh. 

Mr.  Swancourt  made  some  friendly  remarks — among 
other  things  upon  the  heat. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lord  Luxellian,  "  we  were  driving  by  a  fur- 
rier's window  this  afternoon,  and  the  sight  filled  us  all  with 
such  a  sense  of  suffocation  that  we  were  glad  to  get  away. 
Ha-ha  !  "  He  turned  to  Elfride.  "  Miss  Swancourt,  I  have 
hardly  seen  or  spoken  to  you  since  your  literary  feat  was 
made  public.  I  had  no  idea  a  child  was  taking  notes 
down  at  quiet  Endelstovv',  or  I  should  certainly  have  put  my- 
self and  friends  upon  our  best  behavior.  Swancourt,  why 
didn't  you  give  me  a  hint !  " 

Elfride  fluttered,  blushed,  laughed,  said  it  was  nothing 
to  speak  of,  etc.,  etc. 

"  Well,  I  think  you  were  rather  unfairly  treated  by  the 
Prese?it ;  I  certainly  do.  Writing  a  heavy  review  like  that 
upon  an  elegant  trifle  like  the  Court  of  Kellyon  Castle  was 
absurd." 

"What?"  said  Elfride,  opening  her  eyes.  "Was  I 
reviewed  in  the  Present  1 " 

"  O,  yes  ;  didn't  you  see  it  ?  Why,  it  was  four  or  five 
months  ago." 

"  No,  I  never  saw  it.  How  sorry  I  am  !  What  a  shame 
of  my  publishers  ;  they  promised  to  send  me  every  notice 
that  appeared." 

"  Ah,  then  I  am  almost  afraid  I  have  been  giving  you 
disagreeable  information,  intentionally  withheld  out  of 
courtesy.  Depend  upon  it,  they  thought  no  good  would 
come  of  sending  it,  and  so  would  not  pain  you  unneces- 
sarily." 

"O,  no;  I  am  indeed  glad  you  have  told  me,  Lord 
Luxellian.     It  is  quite  a  mistaken  kindness  on  their  pait 


144 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


Is  the  review  so  much  against  me  ? "  she  inquired  tremu- 
lously. 

"  No,  no  j  not  that  exactly — though  I  almost  forget  its 
exact  purport  now.  It  was  merely — merely  sharp,  you 
know — ungenerous,  I  might  say.  But  really  my  memory 
does  not  enable  me  to  speak  decidedly." 

"  We'll  drive  to  the  Present  office,  and  get  one  directly  j 
shall  we,  papa?" 

"  If  you  are  so  anxious,  dear,  we  will,  or  send.  But 
to-morrow  will  do." 

"  And  do  oblige  me  in  a  little  matter  now,  Miss  Swan- 
court,"  said  Lord  Luxellian  warmly,  and  looking  as  if  he 
had  brought  news  that  disturbed  her.  "I  am  in  reality 
sent  here  as  a  special  messenger  by  my  littly  Polly  and 
Katie  to  ask  you  to  come  into  our  carriage  with  them  for  a 
short  time.  I  am  just  going  to  walk  across  into  Piccadilly, 
and  my  wife  is  left  alone  with  them.  I  am  afraid  they  are 
rather  spoilt  children  ;  but  I  have  half  promised  them  you 
shall  come." 

The  steps  were  let  down,  and  Elfride  was  then  trans- 
ferred— to  the  intense  delight  of  the  little  honorables,  and 
to  the  great  interest  of  well-dressed  loungers  with  red 
skins  and  long  necks,  who  curiously  eyed  the  performance 
with  their  walking-sticks  to  their  lips,  occasionally  laugh- 
ing from  far  down  their  throats  and  with  their  eyes,  their 
mouths  not  being  concerned  in  the  operation  at  all.  Lord 
Luxellian  then  told  the  coachman  to  drive  on,  lifted  his 
hat,  smiled  a  smile  that  missed  its  mark  and  alighted  on  a 
total  stranger,  who  bowed  in  bewilderment.  Lord  Luxellian 
looked  long  at  Elfride. 

The  look  was  a  manly,  open,  and  genuine  look  of  ad- 
miration ;  a  momentary  tribute  of  a  kind  which  any  honest 
Englishman  might  have  paid  to  fairness  without  being 
ashamed  of  the  feeling,  or  permitting  it  to  encroach  in  the 
slightest  degree  upon  his  emotional  obligations  as  a  husband 
and  head  of  a  family.  Then  Lord  Luxellian  turned  away, 
and  walked  musingly  to  the  upper  end  of  the  promenade. 

Mr.  Swancourt  had  alighted  at  the  same  time  with 
Elfride,  crossing  over  to  the  Row  for  a  few  minutes  to 
speak  to  a  friend  he  recognized  there ;  and  his  wife  was 
thus  left  sole  tenant  of  the  carriage. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 


145 


Now  while  this  little  act  had  been  in  course  of  perform- 
ance, there  stood  among  the  promenading  spectators  a  man 
of  somewhat  different  description  from  the  rest.  Behind 
the  general  throng,  in  the  rear  of  (he  chairs,  and  leaning 
against  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  he  looked  at  Elfride  with  quiet 
and  critical  interest. 

Three  points  about  this  unobtrusive  person  showed 
promptly  to  the  exercised  eye  that  he  was  not  a  Row  man 
pur  sang.  First,  an  irrepressible  wrinkle  or  two  in  the 
waist  of  his  frock-coat — denoting  that  he  had  not  damned 
his  tailor  sufficiently  to  drive  that  tradesman  up  to  the 
orthodox  high-pressure  of  cunning  workmanship.  Second, 
a  slight  slovenliness  of  umbrella,  occasioned  by  its  owner's 
habit  of  resting  heavily  upon  it,  and  using  it  as  a  veritable 
walking-stick,  instead  of  letting  its  point  touch  the  ground 
in  the  most  coquettish  of  kisses,  as  is  the  proper  Row  man- 
ner to  do.  Third,  and  chief  reason,  that  try  how  you  might, 
you  could  scarcely  help  supposing,  on  looking  at  his  face, 
that  your  eyes  were  not  far  from  a  well-finished  mind, 
instead  of  the  well-finished  skin  ei  prxtera  nihil^  which  is 
by  rights  the  Mark  of  the  Row. 

The  probability  is  that,  had  not  Mrs.  Swancourt  been 
left  alone  in  her  carriage  under  the  tree,  this  man  would 
have  remained  in  his  unobserved  seclusion.  But  seeing 
her  thus,  he  came  round  to  the  front,  stooped  under  the 
rail,  and  stood  beside  the  carriage-door. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  looked  reflectively  at  him  for  a  quarter 
of  a  minute,  then  held  out  her  hand  laughingly : 

"  Why,  Henry  Knight — of  course  it  is  !  My — second — 
third — fourth — cousin — what  shall  I  say  ?  At  any  rate, 
my  kinsman." 

*' Yes,  one  of  a  remnant  not  yet  cut  off.  I  scarcely  was 
certain  of  you,  either,  from  where  I  was  standing." 

I  have  not  seen  you  since  you  first  went  to  Oxford, 
consider  the  number  of  years  !  You  know,  I  suppose  ol 
ray  marriage?" 

And  there  sprang  up  a  dialogue  concerning  family  mat- 
ters of  birth,  death,  and  marriage,  which  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  detail.     Knight  presently  inquired  : 

*'  The  young  lady  who  changed  into  the  other  carriage 
is,  then,  your  step-daughter  t " 

7 


1^6  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

"Yes;  Elfride.     You  must  know  her." 

"  And  who  was  the  lady  in  the  carriage  Elfride  entered  ; 
who  had  an  ill-defined  and  watery  look,  as  if  she  v/ere  only 
the  reflection  of  herself  in  a  pool  ? " 

"Lady  Luxellian;  very  weakly,  Elfride  says.  How> 
ever,  Henry,  you1l  come  and  see  us,  of  course.  24  Chev- 
ron-square. Come  this  week.  We  shall  only  be  in  town 
a  week  or  two  longer." 

"  Let  me  see.  I  am  compelled  to  leave  for  Oxford  to- 
morrow, where  I  shall  be  for  several  days  ;  so  that  I  must, 
I  fear,  lose  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  in  London  this  year." 

"  Then  come  to  Endelstow  ;  why  not  return  with  us  .? " 

"  I  am  afraid  if  I  were  to  come  before  August  I  should 
have  to  leave  again  in  a  day  or  two.  I  should  be  delighted 
to  be  with  you  at  the  beginning  of  that  month  ;  and  I 
could  stay  a  nice  long  time.  I  have  thought  of  going  west- 
ward all  the  summer." 

"Very  well.  Now  remember  that's  a  compact.  And 
won't  you  wait  now  and  see  Mr.  Swancourt  ?  He  will  not 
be  away  ten  minutes  longer." 

"  No  ;  I'll  beg  to  be  excused ;  for  I  must  get  to  my 
chambers  again  this  evening  before  I  go  home ;  indeed  I 
ought  to  have  been  there  now — I  have  such  a  press  of 
matters  to  attend  to  just  at  present.  You  will  explain  to 
him,  please.     Good-bye." 

"  And  let  us  know  the  day  of  your  appearance  as  soon 
as  you  can." 

"I  wUl." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"A  WANDERING    VOICE." 

SHEER  and  intelligible  griefs  are  not  charmed  away  by 
being  confined  to  mere  acquaintances. 

The  species  of  trouble  which,  like  a  stream,  gets  shal- 
lower by  the  simple  operation  of  widening  it  in  any  quarter, 
is  vexation  that  has  for  its  chief  ingredient  perplexity. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  succeeding  that  of  the  meet- 
ing in  the  Park,  Elfride  and  Mrs.  Swancourt  were  engaged 
in  conversation  in  the  dressing-room  of  the  latter.  Such  a 
treatment  of  such  a  case  was  in  process  of  adoption  here. 

Elfride  had  just  before  received  an  affectionate  letter 
from  Stephen  Smith  in  Bombay,  which  had  been  forwarded 
to  her  from  Endelstow.  But  since  this  is  not  the  case 
referred  to,  it  is  not  worth  while  to  pry  farther  into  the  con- 
tents of  the  letter  than  to  discover  that,  with  rash  though 
pardonable  confidence  in  coming  times,  he  addressed  her 
in  high  spirits  as  his  darling  future  wife. 

Probably  there  cannot  be  instanced  a  briefer  and  surer 
rule-of-thumb  test  of  a  man's  temperament — sanguine  or 
cautious — than  this  :  did  he  or  does  he  ante-date  the  word 
wife  in  corresponding  with  a  sweetheart  he  honestly  loves  ? 

She  had  taken  this  epistle  into  her  own  room,  read  a 
little  of  it,  then  saved  the  rest  for  to-morrow,  not  wishing  to 
be  so  extravagant  as  to  consume  the  pleasure  all  at  once. 
Nevertheless,  she  could  not  resist  the  wish  to  enjoy  yet  a 
little  more,  so  out  came  the  letter  again,  and  in  spite  of 
misgivings  as  to  prodigality  the  whole  was  devoured.  The 
letter  was  finally  re-perused  and  placed  in  her  pocket. 

What  was  this  ?  Also  a  newspaper  for  Elfride,  which 
she  had  overlooked  in  her  hurry  to  open  the  letter.  It  was 
the  old  number  of  the  Present,  containing  the  article  upon 
her  book  forwarded  as  had  been  requested. 


1^3  A  P^^^  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

Elfride  had  hastily  read  it  through,  shrunk  perceptibly 
smaller,  and  had  then  gone  with  the  paper  in  her  hand  to 
Mrs.  Svvancourt's  dressing-room,  to  palliate  her  vexation 
by  the  means  above  commented  upon. 

She  was  now  looking  disconsolately  out  of  the  window. 

"  Never  mind,  my  child,"  said  Mrs.  Swancourt,  after  a 
careful  perusal  of  the  matter  indicated.  I  don't  see  that 
the  review  is  such  a  terrible  one  after  all.  Besides,  every- 
body has  forgotten  about  it  by  this  time.  I'm  sure  the 
opening  is  good  enough  for  any  book  ever  written.  Just 
listen — it  sounds  better  read  aloud  than  when  you  pore  over 
it  silently :  '  The  Cou?'t  of  Kellyon  Castle.  A  romance  of 
the  Middle  Ages.  By  Ernest  Field.  In  the  belief  that 
we  were  for  a  while  escaping  the  monotonous  repetition  of 
wearisome  details  in  modern  social  scenery,  analyses  of 
uninteresting  character,  or  the  unnatural  unfoldings  of  a 
sensation  plot,  we  took  this  volume  into  our  hands  with 
a  feeling  of  pleasure.  We  were  disposed  to  beguile  our- 
selves with  a  fancy  that  some  new  change  might  possibly 
be  rung  upon  donjon  keeps,  chain  and  plate  armor,  deeply- 
scarred  cheeks,  tender  maidens  disguised  as  pages,  to 
which  we  had  not  listened  long  ago.'  Now  that's  a  very 
good  beginning,  in  my  opinion,  and  one  to  be  proud  of 
having  brought  out  of  a  man  who  has  never  seen  you." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  murmured  Elfride  wofully.  "  But,  then,  see 
farther  on." 

"Well,  the  next  bit  is  rather  unkind,  I  must  own,"  said 
Mrs.  Swancourt,  and  read  on.  *' '  Instead  of  this  we  found 
ourselves  in  the  hands  of  some  young  lady,  hardly  arrived 
at  years  of  discretion,  to  judge  by  the  silly  device  it  has 
been  thought  worth  while  to  adopt  on  the  title-page,  with 
the  idea  of  disguising  her  sex.'  " 

"  I  am  not  '  silly ! ' "  said  Elfride  indignantly.  "  He 
uight  have  called  me  anything  but  that." 

"You  are  not,  indeed.  Well; — 'Hands  of  a  young 
lady  .  .  .  whose  chapters  are  simply  devoted  to  impossible 
tournaments,  towers,  and  escapades,  which  read  like  fiat  cop- 
ies of  like  scenes  in  the  stories  of  Mr.  G.  P.  R.  James,  and 
the  most  unreal  portions  of  Ivanhoe.  The  bait  is  so  palpably 
artificial  that  the  most  credulous  fancy  turns  away.'  Now, 
my  dear,  I  don't  see  over-much  to  complain  of  in  that.     It 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  149 

proves  that  you  were  clever  enough  to  make  him  think  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  which  is  a  great  deal." 

*■  O,  yes  ;  though  I  cannot  romance  myself,  I  am  able 
to  remind  him  of  those  who  can."  Elfride  intended  to  hurl 
these  words  sarcastically  at  her  invisible  enemy,  but  as  she 
had  no  more  satirical  power  than  a  wood-pigeon,  they  mere- 
ly fell  in  a  pretty  murmur  from  lips  shaped  to  a  pout. 

"  Certainly  :  and  that's  something.  Your  book  is  good 
enough  to  be  bad  in  an  ordinary  literary  manner,  and 
doesn't  stand  by  itself  in  a  melancholy  position  altogether 
worse  than  assailable.— 'That  interest  in  an  historical 
romance  may  now-a-days  have  any  chance  of  being  sustain- 
ed, it  is  indispensable  that  the  reader  find  himself  under 
the  guidance  of  some  nearly  extinct  species  of  legendary, 
who,  in  addition  to  an  impulse  towards  antiquarian  research 
and  an  unvv^eakened  faith  in  the  mediaeval  halo,  shall  pos- 
sess an  inventive  faculty  in  which  delicacy  of  sentiment 
is  far  overtopped  by  a  po'wer  of  welding  to  stirring  incident 
a  spirited  variety  of  the  elementary  human  passions.'  Well, 
that  long-winded  effusion  doesn't  refer  to  you  at  all,  Elfride, 
merely  something  put  in  to  fill-up.  Let  me  see,  when  does 
he  come  to  you  again  ;  .  .  .  not  till  the  very  end,  actually. 
Here  you  are  finally  polished  off: 

"  'But  to  return  to  the  little  work  we  have  used  as  the 
text  of  this  article.  We  are  far  from  altogether  disparaging 
the  author's  powers.  She  has  a  certain  versatility  that 
enables  her  to  use  with  effect  a  style  of  narration  peculiar  to 
herself,  which  may  be  called  a  murmuring  of  delicate  emo- 
tional trifles,  the  particular  gift  of  those  to  whom  the  social 
sympathies  of  a  peaceful  time  are  as  daily  food.  Hence, 
where  matters  of  domiciliary  experience,  and  the  natural 
touches  which  make  people  real,  can  be  introduced  without 
anachronisms  too  striking,  she  is  occasionally  felicitous  ;  and 
upon  the  whole  we  feel  justified  in  saying  that  the  book  will 
bear  looking  into  for  the  sake  of  those  portions  which  have 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  story.'  " 

"Well,  I  suppose  it  is  intended  for  satire;  but  don't 
think  anything  more  of  it  now,  my  dear.  It  is  seven  o'clock.*' 
And  Mrs.  Swancourt  rang  for  her  maid. 

Attack  is  more  piquant  than  concord.  Stephen's  letter 
was  concerning  nothing  but  oneness  with  her  :   the  review 


I  ^0  ^  P^IK  OF  BL  UE  E  YES. 


was  the  ver)'  reverse.     And  a  stranger  with  neither  name 
nor  shape,  age  nor  appearance,  but  a  mighty  voice,  is  nat 
urally  rather  an  interesting  novelty  to  a  lady  he  chooses  t 
address.     When  Elfride  fell  asleep  that  night  she  was  lo'. 
ing  the  writer  of  the  letter,  but  thinking  of  the  writer  of  thai 
aiticle. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

*'  THEN  FA^XY  SHAPES— AS  FANCY  CAN." 

ON  a  day  about  three  weeks  later,  the  Swancourt  trio 
were  sitting  quietly  in  the  drawing-room  of  The 
Crags,  Mrs.  Swancourt's  house  at  Endelstow,  chatting,  and 
taking  easeful  survey  of  their  previous  month  or  two  of 
town — a  tangible  weariness  even  to  people  whose  acquaint- 
ances there  might  be  counted  on  the  fingers. 

A  mere  season  in  London  with  her  practiced  step-moth- 
er had  so  advanced  Elfride's  perceptions,  that  her  court- 
ship by  Stephen  seemed  emotionally  meagre,  and  to  have 
drifted  back  several  years  into  a  childish  past.  In  regard- 
ing our  mental  experiences,  as  in  visual  observation,  our 
own  progress  reads  like  a  dwindling  of  that  we  progress 
from: 

She  was  seated  on  a  low  chair,  looking  over  her  ro- 
mance with  melancholy  interest  for  the  first  time  since  she 
had  become  acquainted  with  the  remarks  of  the  Fresent 
thereupon. 

"  Still  thinking  of  that  reviewer,  Elfie  ? " 

"  Not  of  him  personally  ;  but  I  am  thinking  of  his  opin- 
ion. Really,  on  ^looking  into  the  volume  after  this  long 
time  has  elapsed,  he  seems  to  have  estimated  one  part  of 
it  fairly  enough." 

"  No,  no  ;  I  wouldn't  show  the  white  feather  now  1 
Fancy  that  of  all  people  in  the  world  the  writer  herself 
should  go  over  to  the  enemy.  How  shall  Monmouth's  men 
fight  when  Monmouth  runs  away  ?  " 

"  I  don't  do  that.  But  I  think  he  is  right  in  some  of 
his  arguments,  though  wrong  in  others.  And  because  he 
has  some  claim  to  my  respect  I  regret  all  the  more  that  he 
should  think  so  mistakenly  of  my  motives  in  one  or  two  in- 
stances.    It  is  more  vexing  to  be  misunderstood  than  to  be 


152 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES. 


misrepresented  ;  and  he  misunderstands  me.  I  cannot  be 
easy  while  a  person  goes  to  rest  night  after  night  attribut- 
ing to  me  intentions  I  never  had." 

*'  He  doesn't  know  your  name,  or  anything  about  you. 
And  he  has  doubtless  forgotten  there  is  such  a  book  in  ex- 
istence by  this  time." 

"  I  myself  should  certainly  like  him  to  be  put  right  upon 
one  or  two  matters,"  said  the  vicar,  who  had  hitherto  been 
silent.  *'  You  see,  critics  go  on  writing,  and  are  never  cor- 
rected or  argued  with,  and  therefore  are  never  improved." 

"  Papa,"  said  Elfride  brightening,  "  write  to  him  !  " 

"  I  would  as  soon  write  to  him  as  look  at  him,  for  the 
matter  of  that,"  said  Mr.  Swancourt. 

"  Do  !  And  say,  the  young  person  who  wrote  the  book 
did  not  adopt  a  masculine  sobriquet  in  vanity  or  conceit, 
but  because  she  was  afraid  it  would  be  thought  presumptu- 
ous to  publish  her  name,  and  that  she  did  not  mean  the 
story  for  such  as  he,  but  as  a  sweetener  of  history  for  young 
people,  who  might  thereby  acquire  a  taste  for  what  went  on 
in  their  own  country  hundreds  of  years  ago,  and  be  tempt- 
ed to  dive  deeper  into  the  subject.  O,  there  is  so  much  to 
explain;  I  wish  I  might  write  myself!" 

"  Now,  El  fie,  I'll  tell  you  what  we  will  do,"  answered 
Mr.  Swancourt,  tickled  with  a  sort  of  bucolic  humor  at  the 
idea  of  criticising  the  critic.  "  You  shall  write  a  clear  ac- 
count of  what  he  is  wrong  in,  and  I  will  copy  i-t  and  send  it 
as  mine." 

"  Yes,  now  directly  !  "  said  Elfride,  jumping  up.  "  When 
will  you  send  it,  papa  ?  " 

*'  O,  in  a  day  or  two,  I  suppose,"  he  returned.  Then 
the  vicar  paused  and  slightly  yawned,  and  in  the  manner  of 
elderly  people,  began  to  relax  from  his  ardor  for  the  under- 
taking, now  that  it  came  to  the  point.  "  But,  really,  it  is 
hardly  worth  while." 

"  O,  papa ! "  said  Elfride,  with  much  disappointment. 
**  You  said  you  would,  and  now  you  won't.  That  is  not 
fair ! " 

"  But  how  can  we  send  it  if  we  don't  know  who  to  send 
it  to?" 

"  If  you  really  want  to  send  such  a  thing,  it  can  easily 
be  done,"  said  Mrs.  Swanccurt,  coming  to  her  step-daugh- 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  1 53 

ter's  rescue.  "An  envelope  addressed,  *To  the  Critic 
of  The  Court  of  Kellyon  Castle,  care  of  the  Editor  of  the 
Fresent^  would  find  him." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  would." 

*'  Why  not  write  your  answer  yourself,  Elfride  ? "  Mrs. 
Swancourt  inquired. 

"  I  might,"  she  said  hesitatingly  ;  "  and  send  it  anony- 
mously :  that  would  be  treating  him  as  he  has  treated  me.'* 

''  No  use  in  the  world  !  " 

"But  1  don't  like  to  let  him  know  my  exact  name. 
Suppose  I  put  my  initials  only  ?  The  less  you  are  known 
the  more  you  are  thought  of" 

"Yes  ;  you  might  do  that." 

Elfride  set  to  work  there  and  then.  Her  one  desire  for 
the  last  fortnight  seemed  likely  to  be  realized.  As  happens 
with  sensitive  and  secluded  minds,  a  continual  dwelling 
upon  the  subject  had  magnified  to  colossal  proportions 
the  space  she  assumed  herself  to  occupy  or  to  have  occu- 
pied in  the  occult  critic's  mind.  At  noon  and  at  night  she 
had  been  pestering  herself  with  endeavors  to  perceive  more 
distinctly  his  conception  of  her  as  a  woman,  apart  from  an 
authoress  :  whether  he  really  despised  her ;  whether  he 
thought  more  or  less  of  her  than  of  ordinary  young  women 
who  never  ventured  into  the  fire  of  criticism  at  all.  Now 
she  would  have  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  that  at  any  rate 
he  knew  her  true  intent  in  crossing  his  path,  and  annoying 
him  so  by  her  performance,  and  be  taught  perhaps  to  de- 
spise it  a  little  less. 

Four  days  later  an  envelope,  directed  to  Miss  Swan- 
court,  in  a  strange  hand,  made  its  appearance  from  the 
post-bag. 

"  O,"  said  Elfride,  her  heart  sinking  within  her.  "  Can 
it  be  from  that  man — a  lecture  for  impertinence  ?  And  actu- 
ally one  for  Mrs.  Swancourt  in  the  same  handwriting !  " 
She  feared  to  open  hers.  "  Yet  how  can  he  know  my 
name  ?     No  ;  it  is  somebody  else." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  her  father  grimly.  "  You  sent  your 
initials,  and  the  Directory  was  available.  Though  he 
wouldn't  have  taken  the  trouble  to  look  there  unless  he 
had  been  thoroughly   savage  with  you.     I   thought  you 

7* 


154  ^  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

wrote  with  rather  more  asperity  than  simple  h'terary  dis- 
cussion required."  This  timely  clause  was  introduced  to 
save  the  character  of  the  vicar's  judgment  under  any  issue 
of  affiirs. 

"  Well,  here  I  go,"  said  Elfride,  desperately  tearing 
open  the  seal. 

"  To  be  sure,  of  course,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Swancourt , 
and  locrking  up  from  her  letter,  "  Christopher,  I  quite  forgot 
to  tell  you,  when  I  mentioned  that  I  had  seen  my  distant 
relative,  Harry  Knight,  that  I  invited  him  here  for  whatever 
length  of  time  he  could  spare.  And  now  he  says  he  can 
come  any  day  in  August." 

"  Write,  and  say  the  first  of  the  month,"  replied  the 
indiscriminate  vicar. 

She  read  on.  "  Goodness  me — and  that  isn't  all.  He 
is  actually  the  reviewer  of  Elfride's  book.  How  absurd  to 
be  sure !  I  had  no  idea  he  reviewed  novels  or  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  JPresent.  He  is  a  barrister — and  I 
thought  he  only  wrote  in  the  Quarterlies.  Why,  Elfride, 
you  have  brought  about  an  odd  entanglement !  What  does 
he  say  to  you  ?  " 

Elfride  had  put  down  her  letter  with  a  dissatisfied  flush 
on  her  face.  "  I  don't  know.  The  idea  of  his  knowing 
mf  name  and  all  about  me  !  .  .  .Why,  he  says  nothing  par- 
ticular, only  this: — 

"  '  My  dear  Madam, — Though  I  am  sorry  that  my 
remarks  should  have  seemed  harsh,  it  is  a  pleasure  to  find 
that  they  have  been  the  means  of  bringing  forth  such  an 
ingeniously  argued  reply.  Unfortunately,  it  is  so  long  since 
I  wrote  my  paper,  that  my  memory  does  not  serve  me  suffi- 
ciently to  say  a  single  word  in  my  defence,  even  supposing 
there  remains  one  to  be  said,  which  is  doubtful.  You  will 
find  from  a  letter  I  have  written  to  Mrs.  Swancourt,  thit 
we  are  not  such  strangers  to  each  other  as  we  have  been 
imagining.  Possibly,  I  may  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you  soon,  when  any  argument  you  choose  to  advance  shall 
receive  all  the  attention  it  deserves.'" 

"  That  is  said  satirically — I  know  it  is." 

"  O,  no,  Elfride." 

"  And  then,  his  remarks  didn't  seem  harsh — I  mean  I 
did  not  say  so  " 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  I55 

"  He  thinks  yor  are  in  a  frightful  temper,"  said  Mr. 
Swancourt,  chuckling  in  undertones. 

"  And  he  will  come  and  see  me,  and  find  the  authoress 
as  contemptible  in  speech  as  she  has  been  rude  in  manner. 
1  do  heartily  wish  I  had  never  written  a  word  to  him." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Mrs.  Swancourt,  also  laughing  in 
low  quiet  jerks  ;  "  it  will  make  the  meeting  such  a  comical 
affair,  and  afford  splendid  by-play  for  your  father  and  my- 
self. The  idea  of  our  running  our  heads  against  Harry 
Knight  all  the  time  !     T  cannot  get  over  that." 

The  vicar  had  immediately  recognized  the  name,  as  that 
of  Stephen  Smith's  preceptor  and  friend  ;  but  having  ceased 
to  concern  himself  in  the  matter,  he  ipade  no  remark  to 
that  effect,  consistently  forbearing  to  allude  to  anything 
which  could  restore  recollection  of  their  (to  him)  disagree- 
able mistakes  with  regard  to  poor  Stephen's  lineage  and 
position.  Elfride  had  of  course  perceived  the  same  thing, 
which  added  to  the  complication  of  relationship,  a  mesh 
that  her  step-mother  knew  nothing  of. 

The  identification  scarcely  heightened  Knight's  attrac- 
tions now,  though  a  twelvemonth  ago  she  would  only  have 
cared  to  see  him  for  the  interest  he  possessed  as  Stephen's 
friend.  Fortunately  for  Knight's  advent,  such  a  reason 
for  welcome  had  only  begun  to  be  awkward  to  her  at  a  time 
when  the  interest  he  had  acquired  on  his  own  account 
made  it  no  longer  necessary. 

These  coincidences,  in  common  with  all  relating  to  him, 
tended  to  keep  Elfride's  mind  upon  the  stretch  concerning 
Knight.  As  was  her  custom  when  upon  the  horns  of  a 
dilemma,  she  walked  off  by  herself  among  the  laurel-bushes, 
and  there,  standing  still  and  splitting  up  a  leaf  without 
removing  it  from  its  stalk,  fetched  back  recollections  of 
Stephen's  frequent  words  in  praise  of  his  friend,  and  wished 
she  had  listened  more  attentively.  Then,  still  pulling  the 
leaf,  she  would  blush  at  some  fancied  mortification  that 
would  accrue  to  her  from  his  words  when  they  met,  in  con- 
sequence of  her  rudeness,  as  she  now  considered  it,  in 
writing  to  him. 

The  next  development  of  her  meditations  was  into  the 
subject  of  what  this  man's  personal  appearance  might  be 


156  A  yAlR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

—was  he  tall  ''^r  short,  dark  or  fair,  gay  or  grim.  She 
would  have  askc^id  Mrs.  Swancourt,  but  for  the  risk  she 
migh\t  thereby  incur  of  some  teasing  remark  being  returned. 
Ultimately,  Elfride  would  say,  "  O,  what  a  plague  that  re- 
viewer is  to  me  !  "  and  turn  her  face  to  where  she  imagined 
India  lay,  and  murmur  to  herself,  "  Ah,  my  little  husband, 
what  are  you  doing  now  ?  Let  me  see,  where  are  you — 
south,  east,  where  ?     Behind  that  hill,  ever  so  far  behii  d !  *' 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"  HER  WELCOME,  SPOKE   IN  FALTERING  PHRASE.'^ 

tfT^HERE  is  Henry  Knight,  I  declare!"   said  Mrs 

j^      Swancourt  one  day. 

They  were  gazing  from  the  jutting  angle  of  a  wild  en- 
closure not  far  from  the  Crags^  which  almost  overhung  the 
valley  already  described  as  leading  up  from  the  sea  and 
little  port  of  Stranton.  The  stony  escarpment  upon  which 
they  stood  had  the  contour  of  a  man's  face,  and  it  was 
covered  with  furze  as  with  a  beard.  People  in  the  field 
above  were  preserved  from  an  accidental  roll  down  these 
prominences  and  hollows  by  a  hedge  on  the  very  crest, 
which  was  doing  that  kindly  service  for  Elfride  and  her 
mother  now. 

Scrambling  higher  into  the  hedge  and  stretching  her 
neck  farther  over  the  furze,  Elfride  beheld  the  individual 
signified.  He  was  walking  leisurely  along  the  little  green 
path  at  the  bottom,  beside  the  stream,  a  satchel  slung  upon 
his  left  hip,  a  stout  walking-stick  in  his  hand,  and  a  brown- 
holland  sun-hat  upon  his  head.  The  satchel  was  worn  and 
old,  and  the  outer  polished  surface  of  the  leather  was 
cracked  and  peeling  off. 

Knight  having  arrived  over  the  hills  to  Stranton  upon 
the  top  of  a  crazy  omnibus,  preferred  to  walk  the  remain- 
ing two  miles  up  the  valley,  leaving  his  luggage  to  be 
brought  on. 

Behind  him  a  boy  wandered  helter-skelter,  and  by  that 
natural  law  of  physics  by  which  lesser  bodies  gravitate 
towards  the  greater,  this  boy  drew  near  Knight,  and  trotted 
like  a  little  dog  close  at  his  heels,  whistling  as  he  went, 
with  his  eyes  fi.xed  upon  Knight's  boots  as  they  rose  and 
fell. 

When  they  had  reached  a  point  precisely  opposite  that 


158  A  P^^IR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES. 

in  which  Mrs.  and  Miss  Swancourt  lay  in  ambush,  Kn  ght 
stopped  and  turned  round. 

"Look  here,  my  boy,"  he  said. 

The  boy  parted  his  lips,  opened  his  eyes,  and  answered 
nothing. 

"  Here's  sixpence  for  you,  on  condition  that  you  don't 
again  come  within  twenty  yards  of  my  heels,  all  the  way 
up  the  valley." 

The  boy,  who  apparently  had  not  known  he  had  been 
looking  at  Knight's  heels  at  all,  took  the  sixpence  mechan- 
ically, and  Knight  went  on  again,  wrapped  in  meditation. 

"  A  nice  voice,"  Elfride  thought  j  "  but  what  a  singular 
temper ! " 

"  Now  we  must  get  in-doors  before  he  ascends  the  slope," 
said  Mrs.  Swancourt  softly.  And  they  went  across  by  a 
short  cut  over  a  stile,  entering  the  lawn  by  a  side  door,  and 
so  on  to  the  house. 

Mr.  Swancourt  had  gone  into  the  village  Vv'ith  the 
curate,  and  Elfride  felt  too  nervous  to  await  their  visitor's 
arrival  in  the  drawing-room  with  Mrs.  Swancourt.  So  that 
when  the  elder  lady  entered,  Elfride  made  some  pretence 
of  perceiving  a  new  variety  of  crimson  geranium,  and  lin- 
gered behind  among  the  flower-beds. 

There  was  nothing  gained  by  this,  after  all,  she  thought ; 
and  a  few  minutes  after  boldly  came  into  the  house  by  the 
glass  side-door.  She  walked  along  the  corridor,  and  en- 
tered the  drawing-room.     Nobody  was  there. 

A  window  at  the  angle  of  the  room  opened  directly  into 
an  octagonal  conservatory,  enclosing  the  corner  of  the 
building.  From  the  conservatory  came  voices  in  conver- 
sation— Mrs.  Swancourt's  and  the  stranger's. 

She  had  expected  him  to  talk  brilliantly.  To  her  sur- 
prise he  was  asking  questions  in  quite  a  learner's  manner, 
on  subjects  connected  with  the  flowers  and  shrubs,  that  she 
had  known  for  years.  When  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  min- 
utes he  spoke  at  some  length,  she  considered  there  was  a 
hard  square  decisiveness  in  the  shape  of  his  sentences,  as 
if,  unlike  her  own  and  Stephen's,  they  were  not  there  and 
then  newly  constructed,  but  were  drawn  forth  from  a  large 
store  ready-made.  They  were  now  approaching  the  win- 
dow to  come  in  a^rain. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  15^ 

"That  is  a  flesh-colored  variety,"  said  Mrs.  Swancourt. 
"  But  oleanders,  though  they  are  such  bulky  shrubs,  are  so 
very  easily  wounded  as  to  be  unprunable — giants  with  the 
sensitiveness  of  young  ladies.     O,  here  is  Elfride !  " 

Elfride  looked  as  guilty  and  crestfallen  as  Lady  Teazle 
at  the  fall  of  the  screen.  Mrs.  Swancourt  presented  him 
half  comically,  and  Knight  in  a  minute  or  two  seated  hini' 
self  beside  the  young  lady. 

Elfride's  smiles  of  complaisance  and  hospitality  came 
and  went  with  all  the  rapidity  of  confusion  ;  and  to  make 
her  still  less  comfortable,  Mrs.  Swancourt  immediately  af- 
^  terwards  left  them  together  to  seek  her  husband.  Mr. 
Knight,  however,  did  not  seem  at  all  incommoded  b}'  his 
feelings,  and  he  said  with  light  easefulness, 

"  So,  Miss  Swancourt,  I  have  met  you  at  last.     You  es- 
caped me  by  a  few  minutes  only  when  we  were  in  London." 
"Yes,  I  found  that  you  had  seen  Mrs.  Swancourt" 
"  And  reviewer  and  reviewed  are  face  to  face  at  last," 
he  added  mischievously. 

"  Yes  :  though  the  fact  of  your  being  a  relative  takes 
off  the  edge  of  it.  It  was  strange  that  you  should  be  one 
of  Mrs.  Swancourt's  family  all  the  time."  Elfride  began 
to  recover  herself  now,  and  to  look  into  Knight's  face. 
"  I  was  merely  anxious  to  let  you  know  my  real  meaning  in 
writing  the  book — extremely  anxious." 

"  i  can  quite  understand  the  wish  ;  and  I  was  gratified 
that  my  remarks  should  have  reached  home.  They  very 
seldom  do,  I  am  afraid." 

Elfride  drew  herself  in.  Here  he  was,  sticking  to  his 
opinions  as  firmly  as  if  friendship  and  politeness  did  not 
in  the  least  require  an  immediate  renunciation  of  them, 

"  You  made  me  very  uneasy  and  sorry  by  writing  such 
things,"  she  murmured,  suddenly  dropping  the  mere  ca- 
queterie  of  a  fashionable  first  introduction,  and  speaking 
with  some  of  the  dudgeon  of  a  child  towards  a  severe  school- 
master. 

"That  is  rather  the  object  of  honest  critics  in  such  a 
case.  Not  to  cause  unnecessary  sorrow  :  '  To  make  you 
sorry  after  a  proper  manner,  that  ye  may  receive  damage 
by  us  in  nothing,'  as  a  powerful  pen  once  wrote  to  the 
Gentiles.     Are  you  going  to  write  another  romance?" 


l5o  A  /'^/v^  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

'•  Write  another  !  "  she  said.  "  That  somebody  may  pen 
a  condemnation  and  '  nail't  wi'  Scripture'  again,  as  you  do 
now,  Mr.  Knight?" 

"You  may  do  better  next  time,"  he  said  laughingly: 
"  I  think  you  will.  But  I  would  advi§e  you  to  confine  your- 
self to  domestic  scenes." 

*'  Thank  you.     But  never  again." 

"  Well,  you  may  be  right.  That  a  young  lady  has  taken 
to  writing  is  not  by  any  means  the  best  thing  to  hear  about 
her." 

"What  is  the  best?" 

"I  prefer  not  to  say." 

"  Do  you  know  ?     Then  do  tell  me,  please." 

"  To  hear  that  she  has  married." 

Elfride  hesitated.  "  And  what  when  she  has  been  mar 
ried  ? "  she  said  at  last,  partly  in  order  to  withdraw  her 
own  person  from  the  argument. 

"Then  to  hear  no  more  about  her.  It  is  as  Smeaton 
said  of  his  lighthouse :  her  greatest  real  praise,  when  the 
novelty  of  her  inaugura.tion  has  worn  off,  is  that  nothing 
happens  to  keep  the  talk  of  her  alive." 

"Yes,  I  see,"  said  Elfride  softly  and  thoughtfully. 
"  But  of  course  it  is  different  quite  with  men.  Why  don't 
you  write  novels,  Mr.  Knight  ?  " 

"  Because  I  couldn't  write  one  that  would  interest  any- 
body." 

"Why?" 

"  For  several  reasons.  It  requires  a  skilful  omis!sion 
of  your  real  thoughts  to  make  a  novel  popular,  for  one 
thing." 

"  Is  that  really  necessary  ?  Well,  I  am  sure  you  could 
learn  to  do  that  with  practice,"  said  Elfride  with  an  ex- 
cathedra  air,  as  became  a  person  who  spoke  from  experi- 
ence in  the  art.  "  You  would  make  a  great  name  for  cer- 
tain," she  continued. 

"  So  many  people  make  a  name  now-a-days,  that  it  is 
more  distinguished  to  remain  in  obscurity." 

"Tell  me  seriously — apart  from  the  subject — why  don't 
you  write  a  volume  instead  of  loose  articles  ? "  she  in- 
sisted. 

"  Since  you  are  pleased  to  make  me  talk  of  myself,  I 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EVES.  ^^^ 

will  tell  you  seriously,''  said  Knight,  not  less  amused  at 
this  catechism  by  his  young  friend  than  he  was  interested 
in  her  appearance.  "  As  I  have  implied,  I  have  not  the 
wish.  And  if  I  had  the  wish,  I  could  not  now  concentrate 
sufficiently.  We  all  have  only  our  one  cruse  of  energy 
given  us  to  make  the  best  of  And  where  that  energy  has 
been  leaked  away  week  by  week,  quarter  by  quarter,  as 
mine  has  for  the  last  nine  or  ten  years,  there  is  not  enough 
dammed  back  behind  the  mill  at  any  given  period  to  sup 
ply  the  quantum  a  complete  book  on  any  subject  requires. 
Then  there  is  the  self-confidence  and  waiting  power. 
Where  quick  results  have  grown  customary,  they  are  fatal 
to  a  lively  faith  in  the  future." 

"  Yes,  I  comprehend ;  and  so  you  choose  to  write  in 
fragments  ? " 

"  No,  I  don't  choose  to  do  it  in  the  sense  you  mean ; 
choosing  from  a  whole  world  of  professions,  all  possible. 
It  was  by  the  constraint  of  accident  merely.  Not  that  I 
object  to  the  accident." 

"  Why  don't  you  object — I  mean,  why  do  you  feel  so 
quiet  about  things  ? "  Elfride  was  half  afraid  to  question 
him  so,  but  her  intense  curiosity  to  see  what  the  inside  of 
literary  Mr.  Knight  was  like,  kept  her  going  on.  Knight 
certainly  did  not  mind  being  frank  with  her.  Instances  of 
this  trait  in  men  who  have  warm  feelings,  but  are  reticent 
from  habit,  may  be  recalled  by  all  of  us.  When  they  find 
a  listener  who  can  by  no  possibility  make  use  of  them, 
rival  them,  reserved  and  even  suspicious  men  of  the  world 
become  frank,  keenly  enjoying  the  inner  side  of  their  frank- 
ness. 

"Why  I  don't  mind  the  accidental  constraint,"  he  re- 
plied, "  is  because,  in  making  beginnings,  a  chance  limita- 
tion of  direction  is  often  better  than  absolute  freedom." 

"  I  see — that  is,  I  should  if  I  quite  understood  what  all 
these  generalities  mean." 

"  Why,  this  :  That  an  arbitrary  foundation  for  one's 
work,  which  no  length  of  thought  can  alter,  leaves  the 
attention  free  to  fix  itself  on  the  work  itself,  and  make  the 
best  of  it." 

"Lateral  compression  forcing  altitude,  as  would  be 
said  in  that   tongue,"  she   said  mischievously.     "  And  i 


1 52  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

suppose  where  no  limit  exists,  as  in  the  case  of  a  rich  man 
with  a  wide  tas  e,  who  wants  to  do  something,  it  will  be 
better  to  choose  a  limit  capriciously  than  to  have  none.'' 

"  Yes,"  he  said  meditatively.  "  I  can  go  as  far  as 
that." 

"  Well,"  resumed  Elfride,  "  I  think  it  better  for  a  man's 
nature  if  he  does  nothing  in  particular." 

'*'  There  is  such  a  case  as  being  obliged  to." 
"  Yes,  yes  ;  I  was  speaking  of  when  you  are  not 
obliged  to  for  any  other  reason  than  delight  in  the  pros- 
pect of  fame.  I  have  thought  many  times  lately  that  a 
thin  wide-spread  happiness,  commencing  now,  and  of  a 
piece  with  the  days  of  your  life,  is  preferable  to  an  antici- 
pated heap  far  away  in  the  future,  and  none  now." 

"  Why,  that's  the  very  thing  I  said  just  now  as  being 
the  principle  of  all  ephemeral  doers  like  myself." 

"  O,  I  am  sorry  to  have  parodied  you,"  she  said,  with 
some  confusion.  "Yes,  of  course.  That  is  what  you 
meant  about  not  trying  to  be  famous."  And  she  added, 
with  the  quickness  of  conviction  characteristic  of  her 
mind:  "  There  is  much  littleness  in  trying  to  be  great.  _  A 
man  must  think  a  good  deal  of  himself,  and  be  conceited 
enough  to  believe  in  himself,  before  he  tries  at  all." 

"  But  it  is  soon  enough  to  say  there  is  harm  in  a  man's 
thinking  a  good  deal  of  himself  when  it  is  proved  he  has 
been  thinking  wrong,  and  too  soon  then  sometimes.  Be- 
sides, we  should  not  conclude  that  a  man  who  strives  ear- 
nestly for  success  does  so  with  a  strong  sense  of  his  own 
merit.  He  may  see  how  little  success  has  to  do  with 
merit,  and  his  motive  may  be  his  very  humility." 

This  manner  of  treating  her  rather  provoked  Elfride. 
No  sooner  did  she  agree  with  him  than  he  ceased  to  seem 
to  wish  it,  and  took  the  other  side.  "  Ah,"  she  thougli/ 
inwardly,  "  I  shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  a  man  of  this 
kind,  though  he  is  our  visitor." 

"  I  think  you  will  find,"  resumed  Knight,  pursuing  the 
conversation  more  for  the  sake  of  finishing  off  his  thoughts 
on  the  subject  than  for  engaging  her  attention,  "  that  in  ac- 
tual life  it  is  merely  a  matter  of  instinct  with  men — this  try 
ing  to  push  on.  They  awake  to  a  recognition  that  they  have, 
withoJt  premeditation,  begun  to  try  a  little,  and  they  say 


A  PAIR  OF  SLUE  EVES. 


163 


to  themselves,  '  Since  1  have  tried  thus  much,  I  will  try  a 
little  more.'     They  go  on  because  tliey  have  begun." 

Elfride,  in  her  turn,  was  not  particularly  attending  to 
his  words  at  this  moment.  She  had,  unconsciously  to  her- 
self, a  way  of  seizing  any  point  in  the  remarks  of  an  inter- 
locutor which  interested  her,  and  dwelling  upon  it,  arvi 
thinking  thoughts  of  her  own  thereupon,  totally  oblivions 
of  all  that  he  might  say  in  continuation.  On  such  occa- 
sions she  artlessly  surveyed  the  person  speaking,  and  then 
there  was  a  time  for  a  painter  !  Her  eyes  seemed  to  look 
at  you,  and  past  you,  as  you  were  then,  into  your  future  ; 
and  past  your  future  into  your  eternity — not  reading  it,  but 
gazing  in  an  unused,  unconscious  way — her  mind  still 
clinging  to  its  original  thought. 

That  is  how  she  was  lookinQ^  at  Knio:ht. 

Suddenly  Elfride  became  conscious  of  what  she  was 
doing,  and  was  painfully  confused. 

"  What  were  you  so  intent  upon  in  me  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  As  far  as  I  was  thinking  of  you  at  all,  I  was  thinking 
how  clever  you  are,"  she  said,  with  a  want  of  premedita- 
tion that  was  striking  in  its  honesty  and  simplicity. 

Feeling  restless  now  that  she  had  so  unwittingly 
spoken,  she  arose  and  stepped  to  the  window,  having 
heard  the  voices  of  her  father  and  Mrs.  Swancourt  coming 
up  below  the  terrace,  "  Here  they  are,"  she  said,  going  out. 
Knight  walked  out  upon  the  lawn  behind  her.  She  stood 
upon  the  edge  of  the  terrace,  close  to  the  stone  balustrade, 
and  looked  towards  the  sun,  hanging  over  a  glade,  just  now 
fair  as  Tempe's  vale,  up  which  her  father  was  walking. 

Knight  could  not  help  looking  at  her.  The  sun  was 
within  ten  degrees  of  the  horizon,  and  its  yellow  light 
flooded  her  face  and  heightened  the  bright  rose  color  of 
her  cheeks  to  a  vermilion  red,  their  moderate  pink  hue 
being  only  seen  in  its  natural  tone  where  the  cheek  curved 
round  into  shadow.  The  ends  of  her  hanging  hair  softly 
dragged  themselves  backwards  and  forwards  upon  her 
shoulder  as  each  faint  breeze  thrust  against  or  relinquished 
it.  Fringes  and  ribbons  of  her  dress,  moved  by  the  same 
breeze,  licked  like  tongues  tipon  the  pans  around  them, 
and  fluttering  forward  from  shady  folds  caught  likewise 
their  share  of  the  lustrous  orange  glow. 


J 54  A  FAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

Mr.  Swancourt  shouted  out  a  welcome  to  Knight  from 
a  distance  of  about  thirty  yards,  and  after  a  few  prelimi- 
nary words  proceeded  to  a  conversation  of  deep  earnest- 
ness on  Knight's  fine  old  family  name,  and  theories  as  to 
lineage  and  intermarriage  connected  therewith.  Knight's 
portmanteau  having  in  the  meantime  arrived,  they  soon 
retired  to  prepare  for  dinner,  which  had  been  kept  back 
two  hours  later  than  the  usual  time  of  that  meal. 

An  arrival  was  an  event  in  the  life  of  Elfride,  now  that 
they  were  again  in  the  country,  and  that  of  Knight  neces- 
sarily an  engrossing  one.  And  that  evening  she  went  to 
bed  for  the  first  time  without  thinking  of  Stephen  at  all. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

**TH15   MOOD   OF  WOMAN   WHO   CAN   TELL?" 

THE  old  tower  of  West  Endelstov/  Church  had  reached 
the  last  weeks  of  its  existence.  It  was  to  be  re- 
placed by  a  new  one.  Planks  and  poles  had  arrived  in 
the  church-yard,  iron  bars  had  been  thrust  into  the  venera- 
ble crack  extending  down  the  belfry  wall  to  the  foundation, 
the  bells  had  been  taken  down,  the  owls  had  forsaken  this 
home  of  their  forefathers,  and  six  iconoclasts  in  white  fus- 
tian, to  whom  a  cracked  edifice  was  a  species  of  Mumbo 
Jumbo,  had  taken  lodgings  in  the  village  previous  to  com- 
mencing the  actual  removal  of  the  stones. 

This  was  the  day  after  Knight's  arrival.  To  enjoy  for 
the  last  time  the  prospect  seaward  from  the  summit,  the 
vicar,  Mrs.  Swancourt,  Knight,  and  Elfride  all  ascended  the 
winding  turret — Mr.  Swancourt  stepping  forward  with  many 
loud  pants,  his  wife  struggling  along  silently,  but  suffering 
none  the  less.  They  had  hardly  reached  the  top  when  a  large 
lurid  cloud,  palpably  a  re'servoir  of  rain,  thunder,  and  light- 
ning, was  seen  to  be  advancing  overhead  from  the  north. 

The  two  cautious  elders  suggested  an  immediate  return, 
and  proceeded  to  put  it  in  practice  as  regarded  themselves. 

*■'  Dear  me,  I  wish  I  had  not  come  up,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Swancourt. 

"  We  shall  be  slower  than  you  two  in  going  down,"  the 
vicar  said  over  his  shoulder,  "and  so,  don't  you  start  till  we 
are  nearly  at  the  bottom,  or  you  will  run  over  us  and  break 
our  necks  somewhere  in  the  darkness  of  the  turret." 

Accordingly  Elfride  and  Knight  waited  on  the  leads  till 
the  staircase  should  be  clear.  Knight  was  not  in  a  talka- 
tive mood  that  morning.  Elfride  was  rather  lively,  by  rea- 
son of  his  inattention,  which  she  privately  set  down  to  his 


£66  ^  P^^^  OF  BLUE  EVES 

thinking  her  not  worth  talking  to.  While  Knight  stood 
watching  the  rise  of  the  cloud,  she  sauntered  to  the  other 
side  of  the  tower,  and  there  remembered  an  old  feat  she 
had  performed  the  year  before.  It  was  to  walk  round  upon 
the  parapet  of  the  tower — which  was  quite  without  battle- 
ment or  pinnacle,  and  presented  a  smooth  flat  surface  about 
two  feet  wide,  forming  a  pathway  on  all  the  four  sides. 
Without  reflecting  in  the  least  upon  what  she  was  doing,  she 
now  stepped  upon  the  parapet  in  the  old  way,  and  began 
walking  along. 

"  We  are  down,  cousin  Henr}',"  cried  Mrs.  Swancourt 
up  the  turret.     "  Follow  us  when  you  like." 

Knight  turned  and  saw  Elfride  commencing  her  eleva- 
ted promenade.  His  face  flushed  with  mingled  concern 
and  anger  at  her  rashness. 

*'I  certainly  gave  you  credit  for  more  common  sense," 
he  said. 

She  reddened  a  little  and  walked  on. 

"  Miss  Swancourt,  I  insist  upon  your  coming  down,"  he 
exclaimed. 

"  I  will  in  a  minute.  I  am  safe  enough.  I  have  done 
it  often." 

At  that  moment,  by  reason  of  a  slight  perturbation  his 
words  had  caused  in  her,  Elfride's  foot  caught  itself  in  a 
little  tuft  of  grass  growing  in  a  joint  of  the  stonework,  and 
she  almost  lost  her  balance.  Knight  sprang  forward  with 
a  face  of  horror.  By  what  seem'ed  a  special  interposition 
of  a  merciful  Providence,  she  tottered  to  the  inner  edge  of 
the  parapet  instead  of  to  the  outer,  and  reeled  over  upon 
the  lead  roof  two  or  three  feet  below  the  wall. 

Knight  seized  her  as  in  a  vice,  and  he  said,  panting, 
"  That  ever  I  should  have  met  a  woman  fool  enough  to  do 
a  thing  of  that  kind  !  Good  God,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  yourself ! " 

The  close  proximity  of  the  shadow  of  Death  had  made 
her  sick  and  pale  as  a  corpse  before  he  spoke.  Already 
lowered  to  that  state,  his  words  completely  overpowered 
her,  and  she  swooned  away  as  he  held  her, 

Elfride's  eyes  were  not  closed  for  more  than  forty  sec-  ^ 
onds.     She  opened  them,  and  remembered  the  position  in- 
stantly.    His  face  had  altered  its  expression  from  stern  an- 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  1 67 

ger  to  pity.  But  his  severe  remarks  had  rather  frightened 
her,  and  she  struggled  to  be  free, 

"  If  you  can  stand,  of  course  you  may,"  he  said,  and 
loosened  his  arms.  "  I  hardly  know  whether  most  to  laugh 
at  your  freak  or  to  chide  you  for  its  folly." 

She  immediately  sank  upon  the  lead  work.  Knight  lift- 
ed her  again.     "  Are  you  hurt?  "  he  said. 

She  murmured  an  incoherent  expression,  and  tried  to 
smile  ;  saying,  with  a  fitful  aversion  of  her  face,  "  I  am 
only  frightened.     Put  me  down,  do  put  me  down  !  " 

"  But  you  can't  walk,"  said  Knight. 

"  You  don't  know  that ;  how  can  you  ?  I  am  only 
frightened,  I  tell  you,"  she  answered  petulantly,  and  raised 
her  hand  to  her  forehead.  Knight  then  saw  that  she  was 
bleeding  from  a  severe  cut  in  her  wrist,  apparently  where 
it  had  descended  upon  a  salient  corner  of  the  leadwork. 
Elfride  too  seemed  to  perceive  and  feel  this  now  for  the 
first  time,  and  for  a  minute  nearly  lost  consciousness  again. 
Knight  rapidly  bound  his  handkerchief  round  the  place,  and 
to  add  to  the  complication,  the  thundercloud  he  had  been 
watching  began  to  shed  some  heavy  drops  of  rain.  Knight 
looked  up  and  saw  the  vicar  striding  towards  the  house,  and 
Mrs.  Swancourt  waddling  beside  him,  like  a  hard-driven 
duck. 

"  As  you  are  so  faint,  it  will  be  much  better  to  let  me 
carry  you  down,"  said  Knight ;  "  or  at  any  rate  inside  out 
of  the  rain."  But  her  objection  to  be  lifted  made  it  im- 
possible for  him  to  support  her  for  more  than  five  steps. 

"This  is  folly,  great  folly,"  he  exclaimed,  setting  her 
down. 

"  Indeed  !  "  she  murmured,  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  I 
say  I  will  not  be  carried,  and  you  say  this  is  folly." 

"  So  it  is." 

"  No  it  isn't." 

"  It  is  folly,  I  think.     At  any  rate  the  origin  of  it  all  is." 

*'  I  don't  agree  to  it.  And  you  needn't  get  so  angry  with 
me  ;  I  am  not  worth  it." 

'^  Indeed  you  are.  You  are  worth  the  enmity  of  princes, 
as  was  said  of  such  another.  Now,  then,  will  you  clasp 
yo^r  hands  behind  my  neck,  that  I  may  carry  you  down 
without  hurting  vou  }  " 


1 68  ^  P^/iV  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

"No,  no." 

"You  had  better,  or  I  shall  foreclose." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Deprive  you  of  your  chance." 

Elfride  gave  a  little  toss. 

"  Now,  don't  writhe  so  when  I  attempt  to  carry  you." 

"I  can't  help  it." 

"  Then  submit  quietly." 

"  I  don't  care,  I  don't  care,"  she  murmured  in  languid 
tones  and  with  closed  eyes. 

He  took  her  into  his  arms,  entered  the  turret,  and  with 
slow  and  cautious  steps  descended  round  and  round.  Then, 
with  the  gentleness  of  a  nursing  mother,  he  attended  to  the 
cut  on  her  arm.  During  his  progress  through  the  operations 
of  wiping  it  and  binding  it  up  anew,  her  face  changed  its 
aspect  from  pained  indifference  to  something  Hke  bashful;| 
interest,  interspersed  with  small  tremors  and  shudders  of  a 
trifling  kind. 

In  the  centre  of  each  pale  cheek  a  small  red  spot  the 
size  of  a  wafer  had  now  made  its  appearance,  and  continued  ] 
to  grow  larger.    Elfride  momentarily  expected  a  recurrence 
to  the  lecture  on  her  foolishness,  but  Knight  said  no  more 
than  this, 

"  Promise  me  never  to  walk  on  that  parapet  again." 

"  It  will  be  pulled  down  soon  :  so  I  do."  In  a  few  min- 
utes she  continued  in  a  lower  tone,  and  seriously,  "  You 
are  familiar  of  course,  as  everybody  is,  with  those  strange 
sensations  we  sometimes  have,  that  our  life  for  the  moment 
exists  in  duplicate." 

"  That  we  have  lived  through  that  moment  before  ?  " 

"  Or  shall  again.  Well,  I  felt  on  the  tower  that  some- 
thing similar  to  that  scene  is  again  to  be  common  to  us 
both." 

"  God  forbid  !  "  said  Knight.  "  Promise  me  that  you 
will  never  again  walk  on  any  such  place  on  any  considera- 
tion.^' 

"I  do." 

"  That  such  a'thing  has  not  been  before,  we  know.  That 
it  shall  not  be  again,  you  vow.  Therefore  think  no  more 
of  such  a  foolish  fancy." 

There  had  fallen  a  great  deal  of  rain,  but  unaccom- 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  i6q 

patjied  by  lightning.  A  few  minutes  longer,  and  the  storm 
had  ceased. 

"  Now,  take  my  arm,  please." 

^'  Oj  no,  it  is  not  necessary."  This  relapse  into  wilful- 
ness was  because  he  had  again  connected  the  epithet  fool- 
ish with  her. 

"  Nonsense  :  it  is  quite  necessary ;  it  will  rain  again 
directly,  and  you  are  not  half  recovered."  And  without 
more  ado,  Knight  took  her  hand,  drew  it  under  his  arm,  and 
held  it  there  so  firmly  that  she  could  not  have  removed  it 
without  a  struggle.  Feeding,  at  thus  being  led  along,  like  a 
colt  in  a  halter  for  the  first  time,  yet  afraid  to  be  angry,  it 
was  to  her  great  relief  that  she  saw  the  carriage  coming 
round  the  corner  to  fetch  them. 

Her  fall  upon  the  roof  was  necessarily  explained  to  some 
extent  upon  their  entering  the  house  ;  but  both  forbore  to 
mention  a  word  of  what  she  had  been  doing  to  cause  such 
an  accident.  During  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon  Elfride 
was  invisible ;  but  at  dinner-time  she  appeared  as  bright 
as  ever. 

In  the  drawing-room,  after  having  been  exclusively  en- 
gaged with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Swancourt  through  the  interven- 
ing time,  Knight  again  found  himself  thrown  with  Elfride. 
She  had  been  looking  over  a  chess  problem  in  one  of  the 
illustrated  periodicals. 

'•"  You  like  chess,  Miss  Swancourt  ?  " 

"Yes.  It  is  my  favorite  scientific  game;  indeed,  ex- 
cludes every  other.     Do  you  play?" 

"  I  have  played  ;  though  not  lately." 

"  Challenge  him,  Elfride,"  said  the  vicar  heartily.  "  She 
plays  very  well  for  a  lady,  Mr.   Knight." 

-'  Shall  we  play  ?  "  asked  Elfride  tentatively. 

''  O,  certainly.     I  shall  be  delighted." 

The  game  began.  Mr.  Swancourt  had  forgotten  a  sim- 
ilar performance  with  Stephen  Smith  the  year  before.  El- 
fride had  not  ;  but  she  had  begun  to  take  for  her  maxim 
the  undoubted  truth  that  the  necessity  of  continuing  faith- 
ful to  Stephen  without  suspicion,  dictated  a  tickle  behavior 
almost  as  imperatively  as  fickleness  itself;  a  fact,  however, 
which  would  give  a  startling  advantage  to  the  latter  qualit}', 
should  it  e' er  appear. 


IjQ  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

Knight,  by  one  of  those  inexcusable  oversights  which 
will  sometimes  afflict  the  best  of  players,  placed  his  rook  in 
the  arms  of  one  of  her  pawns.  It  was  her  first  advantage. 
She  looked  triumphant — even  ruthless. 

*' By  George!  what  was  I  thinking  of?"  said  Knight 
quietly  ;  and  then  relinquished  concern  at  his  accident. 

"  Club  laws  we'll  have,  won't  we,  Mr.  Knight  ? "  said 
Elfride  suasively. 

"  O,  yes,  certainly,"  said  Mr,  Knight,  a  thought  however 
just  occurring  to  his  mind  that  he  had  two  or  three  times 
allowed  her  to  replace  a  man,  on  her  religiously  assuring 
him  that  such  a  move  was  an  absolute  blunder. 

She  immediately  took  up  the  unfortunate  rook  and  the 
contest  proceeded,  Elfride  having  now  rather  the  better  of 
the  game.  Then  he  won  the  exchange,  regained  his  posi- 
tion, and  began  to  press  her  hard.  Elfride  grew  flurried, 
and  placed  her  queen  on  his  remaining  rook's  file. 

"  There — how  stupid  !  Upon  my  word,  I  did  not  see 
your  rook.  Of  course  nobody  but  a  fool  would  have  put  a 
queen  there  knowingly." 

She  spoke  excitedly,  half  expecting  her  antagonist  to 
give  her  back  the  move. 

"  Nobody,  of  course,"  said  Knight  serenely,  and  stretch- 
ed out  his  hand  towards  his  royal  victim. 

"It  is  not  very  pleasant  to  have  it  taken  advantage  of,^ 
then,"  she  said,  with  some  vexation. 

"Club  laws,  I  think  you  said?"  returned  Knight  bland- 
ly, and  mercilessly  appropriating  the  queen. 

She  was  on  the  brink  of  pouting,  but  was  ashamed  to 
show  it;  tears  almost  stood  in  her  eyes.  She  had  been 
trying  so  hard — so  very  hard — thinking  and  thinking  till 
her  brain  was  in  a  whirl ;  and  it  seemed  so  heartless  of  him 
to  treat  her  so,  after  all. 

"  I  think  it  is — "  she  began. 

"What?" 

"  Unkind  to  take  advantage  of  a  pure  mistake  I  make 
in  that  way." 

"  I  lost  my  rook  by  even  a  purer  mistake,"  said  the  ene- 
my, in  an  inexorable  tone  without  lifting  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  but — "  However,  as  his  logic  was  absolutely 
unanswerable,  she  merely  registered  a  protest.     "  I  cannot 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  I7I 

enduie  those  cold-blooded  ways  of  clubs  and  professional 
players,  like  Staunton  and  Morphy.  Just  as  if  it  really  mat- 
tered whether  you  have  raised  your  fingers  from  a  man  or 
no." 

Knight  smiled  as  pitilessly  as  before,  and  they  went  on 
in  silence. 
:.      "Checkmate,"  said  Knight. 

"  Another  game,"  said  Elfride  peremptorily  ;  and  look- 
ing very  warm. 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Knight. 

"  Checkmate,"  said  Knight  again,  at  the  end  of  forty 
minutes. 

"  Another  game,"  she  returned  resolutely. 

"  I'll  give  you  the  odds  of  a  bishop,"  Knight  said  to  her 
kindly. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  Elfride  replied,  in  a  tone  intended  for 
courteous  indifference  ;  but,  as  a  fact,  very  cavalier  indeed. 

"  Checkmate,"  said  her  opponent,  Vv^ithout  the  least 
emotion. 

Elfride,  the  difference  between  your  state  of  mind  now, 
and  when  you  purposely  made  blunders  that  Stephen  Smith 
might  win  ! 

It  was  bed-time.  Her  mind  as  if  it  would  throb  itself 
out  of  her  head,  she  went  off  to  her  chamber,  full  of  morti- 
fication at  being  beaten  time  after  time  when  she  herself 
was  the  aggressor.  Having  for  two  or  three  years  enjoyed 
the  reputation  throughout  the  globe  of  her  father's  brain — 
which  almost  constituted  her  entire  world — of  being  an  ex- 
cellent player,  this  fiasco  was  intolerable  ;  for  unfortunately 
the  person  most  dogged  in  the  belief  in  a  false  reputation 
is  always  that  one,  the  possessor,  who  has  the  best  means 
of  knowing  that  it  is  not  true. 

In  bed  no  sleep  came  to  soothe  her ;  that  gentle  thing 
being  the  very  middle-of-summer  friend  in  this  respect  of 
flying  away  at  the  merest  troublous  cloud.  After  lying 
awake  till  two  o'clock,  an  idea  seemed  to  strike  her.  She 
sofdy  arose,  got  a  light,  and  fetched  a  Chess  Praxis  from 
the  library.  Returning  and  sitting  up  in  bed,  she  diligent- 
ly studied  the  volume  till  the  clock  struck  five,  and  her  eye- 
lids felt  thick  and  heavy.  She  then  extinguished  the  light 
and  'ay  down  again. 


J -2  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

"  You  look  pale,  Elfride,"  said  Mrs.  Swancourt  the  next    . 
morning  at  breakfast.     "  Isn't  she,  cousin  Harry  .? " 

A  young  lady  who  is  scarcely  ill  at  all  can  hardly  help 
beoomuig  so  when  regarded  as  such  by  all  eyes  turning 
upon  her' at  the  table  in  obedience  to  some  remark.  Every- 
body looked  at  Elfride.     She  certainly  was  pale. 

*'  Am  I  pale  ? "  she  said  with  a  faint  smile.  "  I  did  not 
sleep  much.  I  could  not  get  rid  of  armies  of  bishops  and 
knights,  try  how  I  would." 

"  Chess  is  a  bad  thing  just  before  bed-time ;  especially 
for  excitable  people  like  yourself,  dear.  Don't  ever  play  late 
again." 

"  I'll  play  early  instead.  Cousin  Knight,"  she  said,  in 
imitation  of  Mrs.  Swancourt,  "  will  you  oblige  me  in  some- 
thing ? " 

"  Even  to  half  my  kingdom." 
"  Well,  it  is  to  play  one  game  more." 
"  When  ? " 

"  Now,  instantly  ;  the  moment  we  have  breakfasted." 
"  Nonsense,  Elfride,"  said  her  father.     "  Making  your- 
self a  slave  to  the  game  like  that." 

"  But  I  want  to,  papa.  Honestly,  I  am  restless  at  hav- 
ing been  so  ignominiously  overcome.  And  Mr.  Knight 
doesn't  mind.     So  what  harm  can  there  be  ? " 

"Let  us  play  by  all  means,  if  you  wish  it,"  said  Knight. 
So  when  breakfast  was  over,  the  combatants  withdrew 
to  the  quiet  of  the  library,  and  the  door  was  closed.  Elfride 
seemed  to  have  an  idea  that  her  conduct  was  rather  ill-reg- 
ulated, and  startlingly  free  from  conventional  restraint.  And 
worse,  she  fancied  upon  Knight's  face  a  slightly  amused 
look  at  her  proceedings. 

"You  think  me  foolish,  I  suppose,"  she  said  recklessly  ; 
"but  I  want  to  do  my  very  best  just  once,  and  see  whether 
I  can  overcome  you." 

"  Certainly  :  nothing  more  natural.  Though  I  am  afraid 
it  is  not  the  plan  adopted  by  women  of  the  world  after  a 
defeat." 

"  Why,  pray  ?  " 

"  Because  they  know  that  as  good  as  overcoming  is  skill 
in  effacing  recollection  of  being  overcome,  and  turn  their 
attention  to  that  entirely." 


A  PA  If!  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


173 


"I  am  wrong  again,  of  course." 

"  Perhaps  your  wrong  is  more  pleasing  than  theii 
right." 

"  I  don't  quite  know  whether  you  mean  that,  or  whether 
you  are  laughing  at  me,"  she  said,  looking  doubtingly  at 
him,  yet  inclining  to  accept  the  more  flattering  intei'preta- 
tion.  "  I  am  alm.ost  sure  you  think  it  vanity  in  me  to  think 
I  am  a  match  for  you.  Well,  if  you.  do,  I  say  that  vanity  is 
no  crime  in  such  a  case." 

"  Well,  perhaps  not.     Though  it  is  hardly  a  virtue." 

'  O,  yes,  in  battle.  Nelson's  bravery  lay  in  his  van- 
ity." 

''  Indeed  !     Then  so  did  his  death." 

"  O,  no,  no  !  For  it  is  written  in  the  book  of  the  prophet 
Shakespeare, 

"  Fear  and  be  slain  ?  no  worse  can  come  to  fight ; 
And  fight  and  die,  is  death  destroying  death  !  "  ' 

And  down  they  sat,  and  the  contest  began,  Elfride  hav- 
ing the  first  move.  The  game  progressed.  Elfride's  heart 
beat  so  violently  that  she  could  not  sit  still.  Her  dread 
was  lest  he  should  hear  it.  And  he  did  discover  it  at  last 
— some  flowers  upon  the  table  being  set  throbbing  by  its 
pulsations. 

'•'  I  think  \NQ  had  better  give  over,"  said  Knight,  looking 
at  her  gently.  "It  is  too  much  for  you,  I  know.  Let  us 
write  down  the  position,  and  finish  another  time." 

"No,  please  not,"  she  implored.  "  I  should  not  rest  if 
I  did  not  know  the  result  at  once.     It  is  your  move." 

Ten  minutes  passed. 

She  started  up  suddenly.  "  I  know  what  you  are  doing  !  " 
she  cried  ;  an  angry  color  upon  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes 
indignant.  "  You  were  thinking  of  letting  me  win  to  please 
me !  " 

"  I  don't  mind  owning  that  I  was,"  Knight  responded 
phlegmatically,  and  appearing  all  the  more  so  by  contrast 
with  her  own  turmoil. 

"  But  you  must  not !     I  won't  have  it." 

"  Very  well." 

"  No,  that  will  not  do  ;  I  insist  that  you  don't  do  any 
such  absurd  thing.     It  is  insulting  me  !  " 


{74  ^   /'^/v?  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

"  Very  well,  madatn.  I  won't  do  any  such  absurd  thing. 
You  shall  not  win.'' 

*'']1iat  is  to  be  proved,"  she  returned  proudly  ;  and  the 
play  went  on. 

Nolhing  is  now  heard  but  the  ticking  of  a  quaint  old 
f  ime-piece  on  the  summit  of  a  bookcase.  Ten  minutes  pass  ; 
he  captures  her  knight ;  she  takes  his  knight,  and  looks  a 
very  Rhadamanthus. 

More  minutes  tick  away :  she  takes  his  pawn  and 
has  the  advantage,  showing  her  sense  of  it  rather  prom  • 
nently. 

Five  minutes  more:  he  takes  her  bishop  :  she  brings 
things  even  by  taking  his  knight. 

Three  minutes  :  she  looks  bold,  and  takes  his  queen  :  he 
looks  placid,  and  takes  hers. 

Eight  or  ten  m.inutes  pass:  he  takes  a  pawn:  she  utters 
a  little  pooh  !  but  not  the  ghost  of  a  pawn  can  she  take  in 
retaliation. 

Ten  minutes  pass:  he  takes  another  pawn  and  says, 
"  Check  I  "  She  flushes,  extricates  herself  by  capturing  his 
bishop,  and  looks  triumphant.  He  immediately  takes  her 
bishop  :  she  looks  surprised. 

Five  minutes  longer:  she  makes  a  dash  and  takes  his 
only  remaining  bishop;  he  replies  by  taking  her  only  re- 
maining knight. 

Two  minutes  :  he  gives  check  ;  her  mind  is  now  in  a 
painful  state  of  tension,  and  she  shades  her  face  with  her 
hand. 

Yet  a  few  minutes  m.ore  :  he  takes  her  rook  and  checks 
again.  She  literally  trembles  now  lest  an  artful  surprise  she 
has  in  store  for  him  shall  be  anticipated  by  the  surprise  he 
evidently  has  in  store  for  her. 

Five  ninutes  :  "  Checkmate  in  two  moves  ! "  exclaims 
Elfride. 

"If  you  can,"  sa3^s  Knight. 

"  O,  I  have  miscalculated  ;  that  is  cruel !  " 

"  Checkmate,"  says  Knight ;  and  the  victory  is  won. 

Elfride  arose  and  turned  away  without  letting  him  see 
hei  face.  Once  in  the  hall  she  ran  up  stairs  and  into  her 
room,  and  flung  herself  down  upon  her  bed,  weeping  bit- 
terly. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


17S 


"Where  is  Elfride  ?"  said  her  father  at  luncheon. 

Knight  listened  anxiously  for  the  answer.  He  had  been 
hoping  to  see  her  again  before  this  time. 

"'  She  isn't  well,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  arose  and  left  the  room,  going  up  stairs 
to  Eifride's  apartment.  At  the  door  was  Unity,  who  occu- 
[)ied  in  the  new  establishment  a  position  between  young- 
lady's  maid  and  middle-housemaid. 

'"  She  is  sound  asleep,  ma'am,"  Unity  whispered. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  opened  the  door.  Elfride  was  lying 
full  dressed  on  the  bed,  her  face  hot  and  red,  her  arms 
thrown  abroad.  At  intervals  of  a  minute  she  tossed  rest- 
lessly from  side  to  side,  and  indistinctly  moaned  words  used 
in  the  game  of  chess. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  had  a  turn  for  doctoring,  and  felt  hei 
pulse.  It  was  twanging  like  a  harp-string,  at  the  rate  of  two 
hundred  a  minute.  Softly  moving  the  sleeping  girl  to  a 
little  less  cramped  position,  she  went  down  stairs  again. 

"  She  is  asleep  now,"  said  Mrs.  Swancourt.  "  She  does 
not  seem  very  well.  Cousin  Knight,  what  were  you  think- 
ing of.'*  her  tender  brain  won't  bear  cudgelling  like  your 
great  head.  You  should  have  strictly  forbidden  her  to  play 
again." 

In  truth,  the  essayist's  experience  of  the  nature  of  young 
women  was  far  less  extensive  than  his  abstract  knowledge 
of  them  led  himself  and  others  to  believe.  He  could  pack 
them  into  sentences  like  a  workman,  but  empirically  was 
nowhere. 

"  I  am  indeed  sorry,"  said  Knight,  feeling  even  more 
than  he  expressed.  ''  But  surely,  the  young  lady  knows 
best  what  is  good  for  her  ?  " 

'^  Bless  you,  that's  just  what  she  doesn't  know.  She 
never  thinks  of  such  things,  does  she,  Christopher  >  Hei 
father  and  I  have  to  command  her  and  keep  her  in  order, 
as  you  would  a  child.  She  will  say  things  worthy  of  a 
French  epigrammatist,  and  act  like  a  robin  in  a  greenhouse. 
But  I  think  we  will  send  for  Dr.  Gran  son — there  can  be  no 
harm." 

A  man  was  straightway  despatched  on  horseback  to 
Stranton,  and  the  gentleman  known  as  Dr.  Granson  came  in 
the  course  of  the  afternoon.     He  pronounced  her  nervous 


i;76  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

system  to  be  in  a  decided  state  of  disorder  ;  forwarded  some 
soothing  draught,  and  gave  orders  that  on  no  account  what- 
ever was  she  to  play  chess  again. 

The  next  morning  Knight  waited  with  a  curiously  com- 
pounded feeling  for  her  entry  to  breakfast.  The  female  ser- 
vants came  in  to  prayers  at  irregular  intervals,  and  as  each 
entered,  he  could  not,  to  save  his  life,  avoid  turning  his  head 
with  the  hope  that  she  might  be  Elfride.  Mr.  Swancourt 
began  reading  without  waiting  for  her.  Then  somebody 
glided  in  noiselessly  ;  Knight  softly  glanced  up  :  it  was  only 
the  little  kitchen-maid.  Knight  thought  reading  prayers  a 
bore. 

He  went  out  alone,  and  for  almost  the  first  time  failed 
to  recognize  that  holding  converse  with  Nature's  charms 
was  not  solitude.  On  nearing  the  house  again  he  perceiv- 
ed his  young  friend  crossing  a  slope  by  a  path  which  ran 
into  the  one  he  was  following,  in  the  angle  of  the  field. 
Here  they  met.  Elfride  was  at  once  exultant  and  abashed  : 
coming  into  his  presence  had  upon  her  the  effect  of  enter- 
ing a  cathedral. 

Knight  had  his  note-book  in  his  hand,  and  had,  in  fact, 
been  in  the  very  act  of  writing  therein,  when  they  came  in 
view  of  each  other.  He  left  off  in  the  midst  of  a  sentence, 
and  proceeded  to  inquire  warmly  concerning  her  state  of 
health.  She  said  she  was  perfectly  well,  and  indeed  had 
never  looked  better.  Her  health  was  as  inconsequent  as 
her  actions.  Her  lips  were  red,  without  the  polish  that 
cherries  have,  and  their  redness  joined  with  a  white  skin  in 
a  clearly-defined  line,  which  had  nothing  of  jagged  confu- 
sion in  it.  Altogether,  the  last  person  in  the  world  to  be 
knocked  over  by  a  game  of  chess,  because  too  ephemeral 
looking  to  play  one. 

"  Are  you  taking  notes  .?"  she  inquired,  with  an  alacrity 
plainly  arising  less  from  interest  in  the  subject  than  from  a 
wish  to  divert  his  thoughts  from  her  person. 

"  Yes ;  1  was  making  an  entry.  And  with  your  per- 
mission I  will  complete  it."  Knight  then  stood  still,  and 
wrote.  Elfride  remained  beside  him  a  moment,  and  after- 
wards walked  on. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  ai'  the  secrets  that  are  in  thai 
book,"  she  gayly  flung  back  t  >  him  over  her  shoulder. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


177 


"  I  don't  think  you  would  find  much  to  interest  you." 

"I  know  I  should." 

"Then  of  course  I  have  no  more  to  say." 

"  But  I  would  ask  this  question  first.  Is  it  a  book  of 
mere  facts  concerning  journey  and  expenditure,  and  so  on, 
or  a  book  of  thoughts  ?  " 

"  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  it  is  not  exactly  either.  It  con- 
sists for  the  most  part  of  jottings  for  articles  and  essays, 
disjointed  and  disconnected,  of  no  possible  interest  to  any- 
bod)  but  myself." 

"  It  contains,  1  suppose,  your  developed  thoughts  in 
embryo  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  If  they  are  interesting  when  enlarged  to  the  size  of  an 
article,  what  must  they  be  in  their  concentrated  form  ? 
Pure  rectified  spirit,  above  proof;  before  it  is  lowered  to 
be  fit  for  human  consumption  :  '  words  that  burn  '  indeed." 

"  Rather  like  a  balloon  before  it  is  inflated  ;  flabby, 
shapeless,  dead.     You  could  hardly  read  them." 

"May  I  try?"  she  said  coaxingly.  "I  wrote  my  poor 
romance  in  that  way — I  mean  in  bits,  out  of  doors — and  I 
should  like  to  see  whether  your  way  of  entering  things  is 
the  same  as  mine." 

"  Really,  that's  rather  an  awkward  request.  I  suppose 
I  can  hardly  refuse  now  you  have  asked  so  directly  j  but — " 

"  You  think  me  ill-mannered  in  asking.  But  does  not 
this  justify  me — your  writing  in  my  presence,  Mr.  Knight  ? 
If  I  had  lighted  upon  your  book  by  chance,  it  would  have 
been  different ;  but  you  stand  before  me,  and  say, '  excuse 
me,'  without  caring  whether  I  do  or  not,  and  write  on,  and 
then  tell  me  they  are  not  private  facts    but  public  ideas." 

"  Very  well,   Miss  Swancourt.     If  you  really  must  see, 
the  consequences   be  upon   your  own  head.     Remember, 
my  advice  to  you  is  to  leave  my  book  alone." 
^     "  But  with  that  caution  I  have  your  permission  ? " 

*'  Yes." 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  looked  at  his  hand  containing 
the  book,  then  laughed,  and  saying,  "  I  must  see  it,"  with- 
drevv^  it  from  his  fingers. 

Knight   rambled    on    towards   the  house,    leaving   hei 
standing  in  the  path  turning  over  the   leaves.     By  the  time 
8-^- 


178 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


he  had  reached  the  wicket-gate  he  saw  that  she  had  moved, 
and  waited  till  she  came  up. 

Etfride  hid  closed  the  note-book,  and  was  cairying  it 
disdainfully  by  the  corner  between  her  finger  and  thumb  ; 
her  face  wore  a  nettled  look.  She  silently  extended  the 
volume  towards  him,  raising  her  eyes  no  higher  than  her 
hand  was  lifted. 

''  Take  it,"  said  Elfride  quickly.  "  I  don't  want  to  read 
it." 

"  Could  you  understand  it .?  "  said  Knight. 

"  As  far  as  I  looked.     But  I  didn't  care  to  read  much." 

"  Why,  Miss  Swancourt  ?  " 

"  Only  because  I  didn't  wish  to — that's  all." 

"  I  warned  you  that  you  might  not." 

"  Yes,  but  I  never  supposed  you  would  have  put  77te 
there." 

"  Your  name  is  not  mentioned  once  within  the  four  cor- 
ners." 

"  Not  my  name — I  know  that." 

''  Nor  your  description,  nor  anything  by  which  anybody 
Vv^ould  recognize  you." 

''Except  myself.  For  what  is  this?"  she  exclaimed, 
taking  it  from  him  and  opening  a  page.  "  August  7.  That's 
the  day  before  yesterday.  But  I  won't  read  it,"  Elfride 
said,  closing  the  book  again  with  pretty  hauteur.  "  Why 
should  I  ?  I  had  no  business  to  ask  to  see  your  book,  and 
it  serves  me  right." 

Knight  hardly  recollected  what  he  had  written,  and 
turned  over  the  book  to  see.     He  came  to  this  : 

"  Aug.  7.  Girl  gets  into  her  teens,  and  her  self-con- 
sciousness is  born.  After  a  certain  interval  passed  in 
infantine  helplessness,  it  begins  to  act.  Simple,  young,  and 
inexperienced  at  first.  Persons  of  observation  can  tell  to 
a  nicety  how  old  this  consciousness  is  by  the  skill  it  has 
acquired  in  the  art  necessary  to  its  success — the  art  of  hi«l- 
ing  itself.  Generally  begins  career  by  actions  which  are 
popularly  termed  showing  otT.  Method  adopted  depends 
in  each  case  upon  the  disposition,  rank,  residence,  of  the 
young  lady  attempting  it.  Town-bred  girl  will  utter  some 
moral  paradox  on  fast  men,  or  love.  Country  Miss  adopts 
the  more  material  media   of  taking  a  ghastly  fence,    whist- 


^  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


179 


ling,  or  making  your  blood  run  cold  by  appearing  to  risk 
her  neck.     {Mem.     On  Endelstow  tower.) 

"An  innocent  vanity  is  of  course  the  origin  of  these  dis- 
plays. "  Look  at  me,"  say  these  youthful  begiiuiers  in 
womanly  artifice,  without  retlecting  whether  or  not  it  be  to 
their  advantage  to  show  so  very  much  of  themselves. 
(Amplify  and  correct  for  paper  on  Artless  Arts.)" 

"  Yes;  I  remember  now,"  said  Knight.  "  The  notes 
were  certainly  suggested  by  your  manoeuvre  on  the  church 
tower.  But  you  must  not  think  too  much  of  such  random 
observations,"  he  continued  encouragingly,  as  he  noticed 
her  injured  looks.  "  A  mere  fancy  passing  through  my 
head  assumes  a  factitious  importance  to  you,  because  it  has 
been  made  permanent  by  being  written  down.  All  man- 
kind think  thoughts  as  bad  as  those  of  people  they  most 
love  on  earth,  but  such  thoughts  never  getting  embodied  on 
paper,  it  becomes  assumed  that  they  never  existed.  I  dare- 
say that  you  yourself  have  thought  some  disagreeable  thing 
or  other  of  me,  which  would  seem  just  as  bad  as  this  if 
written.     I  challenge  you,  now,  to  tell  me." 

"  The  worst  thing  I  have  thought  of  you?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  must  not." 

"  O,  yes." 

"  I  thought  you  were  rather  round-shouldered." 

Knight  looked  slightly  redder. 

"  And  that  there  was  a  Utile  bald  spot  on  the  top  of 
your  head." 

"  Heh-heh  !  Two  ineradicable  defects,"  said  Knight, 
there  being  a  faint  ghasthness  discernible  in  his  laugh. 
"  TJiey  are  much  worse  in  a  iad/s  eye  than  being  thought 
self-conscious,  I  suppose." 

"  Ah,  that's  very  fine,"  she  said,  too  inexperienced  to 
perceive  her  hit,  and  hence  not  quite  disposed  to  forgive 
his  notes.  "  You  alluded  to  me  in  that  entry  as  if  I  were 
-such  a  child,  too.  Everybody  does  that.  1  cannot  under- 
stand it.  I  am  quite  a  woman,  you  know.  How  old  do 
vnu  think  I  am  ?  " 

"  How  old?  Why,  seventeen,  I  should  say.  All  girls 
art-  seventeen." 

*'  You  are  wrong.     I  am  nearly  nineteen.     Which  class 


j8o      ,  ^  ^^^-^^^^  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

of  women  do  you  like  best,  those  who  seem  younger,  oi 
those  who  seem  older  than  they  are." 

'*  Off-hand  I  should  be  inclined  to  say  those  who  seem 
older." 

So  it  was  not  Elfride's  class. 

"  But  it  is  well  known,"  she  said  eagerly,  and  there  was 
something  touching  in  the  artless  anxiety  to  be  thought 
much  of  she  revealed  by  her  words,  "  that  the  slo\ver  a  na- 
ture is  to  develop,  the  richer  tlie  nature.  Youths  and  girls 
who  are  men  and  women  before  they  come  of  age  are  no- 
bodies by  the  time  backward  people  have  shown  their  full 
compass." 

''  Yes,"  said  Knight  thoughtfully.  "  There  is  really 
something  in  that  remark.  But  at  the  risk  of  oiTence  1 
must  remind  you  that  you  there  take  for  .granted  that  the 
woman  behind  her  time  at  a  given  age  has  not  reached  the 
end  of  her  tether.  Her  backwardness  may  be  not  because 
she  is  slow  to  develop,  but  because  she  soon  exhausted  hei 
capacity  for  developing." 

Elfride  looked  disappointed.  By  this  time  they  were  in- 
doors. Mrs.  Swancourt,  to  whom  matchmaking  by  any  hon- 
est means  was  meat  and  drink,  had  now  a  litde  scheme  of  that 
nature  concerning  this  pair.  The  morning-room,  in  which 
they  both  expected  to  find  her,  was  empty ;  the  old  lady 
having,  for  the  above  reason,  vacated  it  by  the  second  door 
as  they  entered  by  the  first. 

Knight  went  to  the  chimney-piece,  and  carelessly  sur 
veyed  two  portraits  on  ivory. 

"Though  these  pink  ladies  had  very  rudimentary  feat- 
ures, judging  by  what  I  see  here,"  he  observed,  "  they  had 
unquestionably  beautiful  heads  of  hair." 

"  Yes  j  and  that  is  everything,"  said  Elfride,  possibly 
conscious  of  her  own,  possibly  not. 

"  Not  everything  ;  though  a  great  deal,  certainly." 

*'  Which  color  do  you  like  best .-'  "  she  ventured  to  ask. 

"  More  depends  on  its  abundance  than  on  its  color." 

"  Abundances  being  equal,  may  I  inquire  your  favorite 
color  ?  " 

"  Dark." 

**  I  mean  for  women,"  she  said  with  the  minutest  fall  of 
countenance,  and  a  hope  that  she  had  been  misunderstood. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  l8l 

"So  do  I,"  Knight  replied. 

It  was  impossible  for  any  man  not  to  know  the  color  of 
Elfride's  hair.  In  women  who  wear  it  plainly  such  a  feat- 
ure may  be  overlooked  by  men  not  given  to  ocular  intent- 
ness.  But  hers  was  always  in  the  way.  You  saw  her  hair 
as  far  as  you  could  see  her  sex,  and  knew  that  it  was  the 
palest  brown.  She  knew  instantly  that  Knight,  being  per- 
fectly well  aware  of  this,  had  an  independent  standard  of 
admiration  in  the  matter. 

Elfride  was  thoroughly  vexed.  She  could  not  but  be 
struck  with  the  honesty  of  his  opinions,  and  the  worst  of  it 
was,  that  t-iie  more  they  went  against  her,  the  more  she  re- 
spected them.  And  now,  like  a  reckless  gambler,  she  haz- 
arded her  last  and  best  treasure.  Her  eyes  :  they  were 
her  all  now. 

"  What  eyes  do  you  like  best,  Mr.  Knight  ?  " 

"  Honestly,  or  as  a  compliment.?  " 

"Of  course  honestly;  I  don't  want  anybody's  compli- 
ment." 

And  yet  Elfride  knew  otherwise  :  that  a  comphment 
from  that  man  then  would  have  been  like  a  well  to  a  famish- 
ed  Arab. 

"  I  prefer  hazel,"  he  said,  serenely. 

She  had  played  and  lost  again. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

•*LOVE   WAS   IN   THE    NEXT   DEGREE." 

KNIGHT  had  none  of  those  light  familiarities  of 
speech  which,  by  judicious  touches  of  epigram* 
matic  flattery,  obliterate  a  woman's  recollection  of  the 
speaker's  abstract  opinions.  So  no  more  was  said  by 
either  on  the  subject  of  hair,  eyes,  or  development.  El- 
fride's  mind  had  been  impregnated  with  sentiments  of  her 
own  smallness  to  an  uncomfortable  degree  of  distinctness, 
and  her  discomfort  was  visible  in  her  face.  The  wliole 
tendency  of  the  conversation  latterly  had  been  to  quietly 
but  surely  disparage  her ;  and  she  was  fain  to  take  Stephen 
into  favor  in  self-defence.  He  would  not  have  been  so  un- 
loving, she  said,  as  to  admire  an  idiosyncrasy  and  features 
different  from  her  own.  True,  Stephen  had  declared  he 
loved  her :  Mr.  Knight  had  never  done  anything  of  the 
sort.  Somehow  this  did  not  mend  matters,  and  the  sensa- 
tion of  her  smallness  in  Knight's  eyes  still  remained.  Had 
the  position  been  reversed — had  Stephen  loved  her  in  spite 
of  a  differing  taste,  and  had  Knight  been  indifferent  in 
spite  of  her  resemblance  to  his  ideal,  it  would  have  en- 
gendered far  happier  thoughts.  As  matters  stood,  Ste- 
phen's admiration  might  have  its  root  in  a  blindness  the 
result  of  passion.  Perhaps  any  keen  man's  judgment  was 
condemnatory  of  her. 

During  the  remainder  of  Saturday  they  were  more  or 
less  thrown  with  their  seniors,  and  no  conversation  arose 
which  was  exclusively  their  own.  When  Elfride  was  in  bed 
that  night  her  thoughts  recurred  to  the  same  subject.  At 
one  moment  she  insisted  that  it  was  ill-natured  of  him  to 
speak  so  decisively  as  he  had  done  ;  the  next,  that  it  was 
sterling  honesty. 

"Ahj  what  a   poor  nobody  I   am!"  she   said,  sighing. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  1 83 

•*  People  like  him,  who  go  about  the  great  world,  don't  care 
in  the  least  what  I  am  like  either  in  mood  or  feature." 

l-erhaps  a  man  who  has  got  thoroughly  into  a  woman's 
mind  in  this  manner  is  half-way  to  her  heart ;  for  the  dis- 
tance betv.-een  her  reason  and  her  feeling  is  proverbially 
short. 

*'  And  are  you  really  going  away  this  week  ? "  said  Mrs. 
Swancourt  to  Knight  on  the  following  evening,  which  was 
Sunday. 

They  were  all  leisurely  climbing  the  hill  to  the  church, 
where  a  last  service  was  now  to  be  held  at  the  rather  ex- 
ceptional time  of  evening  instead  of  in  the  afternoon,  pre- 
vious to  the  demolition  of  the  ruinous  portions. 

"  I  am  intending  to  cross  to  Cork  from  Bristol,"  re- 
turned Knight ;  "and  then  I  go  on  to  Dublin." 

"Return  this  way,  and  stay  a  little  longer  with  us," 
said  the  vicar.  "A  week  is  nothing.  We  have  hardly 
been  able  to  realize  your  presence  yet.  I  remember  a 
story  which — " 

The  vicar  suddenly  stopped.  He  had  forgotten  it  was 
Sunday,  and  would  probably  have  gone  on  in  his  week-day 
mode  of  thought  had  not  a  turn  in  the  breeze  blown  the 
skirt  of  his  college  gown  within  the  range  of  his  vision, 
and  so  reminded  him.  He  at  once  diverted  the  current  of 
his  narrative  with  the  dexterity  the  occasion  demanded. 

"The  story  of  the  Levite  who  journeyed  to  Beth-lehem- 
judah,  from  which  I  took  my  text  the  Sunday  before  last, 
is  quite  to  the  point,"  he  continued,  with  the  pronuncia- 
tion of  a  man  who,  far  from  having  intended  to  tell  a 
week-day  story  a  moment  earlier,  had  thought  of  nothing  but 
Sabbath  matters  for  several  weeks.  "  What  did  he  gain 
after  all  by  his  restlessness?  Had  he  remained  in  the  city 
of  the  Jebusites,  and  not  been  so  anxious  for  Gibeah,  none 
of  his  troubles  would  have  arisen." 

"  But  he  had  wasted  five  days  already,"  said  Knight, 
smiling  at  the  vicar's  adroit  diversion.  "  His  fault  lay  in 
beginning  the  tarrying  system  originally." 

''  True,  true  ;  my  illustration  fails," 

"  But  not  the  hospitality  which  prompted  it." 

"  So  you  are  to  come  just  the  same,"  urged  Mis.  Swan- 
court,  for  she  had   seen   an   almost   imperceptible   fall   of 


1 84  ^  P^^R  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

countenance  in  her  step-daughter  at  Knight's  announce* 
ment. 

Knight  half  promised  to  call  on  his  return  journey ; 
but  the  uncertainty  with  which  he  spoke  was  quite  enough 
to  fill  Elfride  with  a  regretful  interest  in  all  he  did  during 
the  few  remaining  hours.  The  curate  having  already  offi- 
ciated twice  that  day  in  the  two  churches,  Mr.  Swancourt 
had  undertaken  the  whole  of  the  evening  service,  and 
Knight  read  the  lessons  for  him.  The  sun  streamed  across 
from  the  dilapidated  west  window,  and  lighted  all  the  as- 
sembled worshippers  with  a  golden  glow,  Knight  as  he 
read  being  illuminated  by  the  same  mellow  lustre.  Elfride 
regarded  him  with  a  throbbing  sadness  of  mood  which  was 
fed  by  a  sense  of  being  far  removed  from  his  sphere.  As 
he  went  deliberately  through  the  chapter  appointed — a 
portion  of  the  history  of  Elijah — and  ascended  that  mag- 
nificent climax  of  the  wind,  the  earthquake,  the  fire,  and 
the  still  small  voice,  his  deep  tones  echoed  past  with 
such  apparent  disregard  of  her  existence,  that  his  pres- 
ence inspired  her  wath  a  forlorn  sense  of  unapproachable- 
ness,  which  his  absence  would  hardly  have  been  able  to 
cause. 

At  the  same  time,  turning  her  face  for  a  moment  to 
catch  the  glory  of  the  dying  sun  as  it  fell  on  his  face,  her 
eyes  were  arrested  by  the  shape  and  aspect  of  a  woman  in 
the  west  gallery.  It  was  the  bleak  barren  countenance  of 
the  widow  Jethway,  whom  Elfride  had  not  seen  much  of 
since  the  morning  of  her  return  with  Stephen  Smith.  Pos- 
sessing the  smallest  of  competencies,  this  unhappy  woman 
appeared  to  spend  her  life  in  journeyings  between  Endel- 
stow  churchyard  and  that  of  a  village  near  Southampton^ 
where  her  father  and  mother  were  laid. 

She  had  not  attended  the  service  here  for  a  consider- 
able time,  and  she  now  seemed  to  have  a  reason  for  her 
choice  of  seat.  From  the  gallery  window  the  tomb  of 
her  son  was  plainl}/  visible — standing  as  the  nearest  object 
in  a  prospect  which  was  closed  outwardly  by  the  changeless 
horizon  of  the  sea. 

The  streaming  rays,  too,  flooded  her  face,  now  bent 
towards  Elfride  with  a  hard  and  bitter  expression  that  the 
solemnity  of  the  place  raised  to  a  tragic  dignity  it  did  not 


A  PA  IK  OF  BLUE  EYES.  185 

intrinsically  possess.  The  girl  resumed  her  normal  atti- 
tude with  an  added  disquiet. 

Elfride's  emotion  was  cumulative,  and  after  a  while 
would  assert  itself  on  a  sudden.  A  slight  touch  was  enough 
to  set  it  free — a  poem,  a  sunset,  a  cunningly  contrived 
chord  of  music,  a  vague  imagining,  being  the  usual  acci- 
dents of  its  exhibition.  The  longing  for  Knight's  respect, 
which  was  leading  up  to  an  incipient  yearning  for  his  love, 
made  the  present  conjuncture  a  sufficient  one.  While  kneel- 
ing down  previous  to  leaving,  when  the  sunny  streaks  had 
gone  upward  to  the  roof,  and  the  lower  part  of  the  church 
was  in  soft  shadow,  she  could  not  help  thinking  of  Cole- 
ridge's morbid  poem  the  "Three  Graves,"  and  shuddering 
as  she  wondered  if  Mrs.  Jethway  were  cursing  her,  she 
wept  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

They  came  out  of  church  just  as  the  sun  went  down, 
leaving  the  landscape  like  a  platform  from  which  an  elo- 
quent speaker  has  retired,  and  nothing  remains  for  the 
audience  to  do  but  to  rise  and  go  home.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Swancourt  went  off"  in  the  carriage,  Knight  and  Elfride 
preferring  to  walk,  as  the  skilful  old  matchmaker  had  im- 
agined.    They  descended  the  hill  together. 

"  I  liked  your  reading,  Mr.  Knight."  Elfride  presently 
found  herself  saying.     "  You  read  better  than  papa." 

"  I  will  praise  anybody  that  will  praise  me.  You  played 
excellently.  Miss  Swancourt,  and  very  correctly." 

"  Correctly — yes."    . 

*'  It  must  be  a  great  pleasure  to  you  to  take  an  active 
part  in  the  service." 

"  I  want  to  be  able  to  play  with  more  feeling.  But  I 
have  not  a  good  selection  of  music,  sacred  or  secular.  I 
wish  I  had  a  nice  little  music-library — well  chosen,  and  that 
the  only  new  pieces  sent  me  were  those  of  genuine  merit." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  such  a  wish  from  you.  It  is  extia- 
ordinary  how  many  women  have  no  honest  love  of  music 
as  an  end  and  not  as  a  means,  even  leaving  out  those  who 
have  nothing  in  them.  They  mostly  like  it  for  its  acces- 
sories. I  have  never  met  a  woman  who  loves  music  as  do 
ten  or  a  dozen  men  I  know." 

How  would  you  draw  the  line  between  women  with 
something  and  women  with  nothing  in  them?" 


I  36  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

"Well,"  said  Knight,  reflecting  a  moment,  "I  mean 
by  nothing  in  them  those  who  don't  care  about  anything 
solid.  This  is  an  instance:  I  knew  a  man  who  had  a 
young  friend  he  was  much  interested  in  j  in  fact,  they  were 
going  to  be  married.  She  was  seemingly  poetical,  and  he 
offered  hei  a  choice  of  two  editions  of  the  British  poets, 
which  she  pretended  to  want  badly.  He  said,  '  Which  of 
them  w^ould  you  like  best  for  me  to  send?'  She  said, 
'A  pair  of  the  prettiest  earrings  in  Bond-street,  if  you- 
don't  mind,  would  be  nicer  than  either.'  Now  I  call  her  a 
girl  with  not  much  in  her  but  vanity  ;  and  so  do  you,  I 
dare  say." 

"  O,  yes,"  replied  Elfride  with  an  effort. 

Happening  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  face  as  she  was 
speaking,  and  noticing  that  her  attempt  at  heartiness  was 
a  miserable  failure,  he  appeared  to  have  misgivings. 

^'You,  Miss  Swancourt,  would  not,  under  such  circum- 
stances, have  preferred  the  nicknacks  ? " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  I  should,  indeed,"  she  stammered. 

"  I'll  put  it  to  you,"  said  the  inflexible  Knight.  "  Which 
will  you  have  of  these  two  things  of  about  equal  value — the 
well-chosen  little  library  of  the  best  music  you  spoke  of — 
bound  in  morocco,  walnut  case,  lock  and  key — or  a  pair 
of  the  very  prettiest  earrings  in  Bond-street  windows  ?  " 

"Of  course  the  music,"  Elfride  replied  with  forced 
earnestness. 

"You  are  quite  certain  ?  "he  said  emphatically. 

"  Quite,"  she  faltered  ;  "  if  I  could  for  certain  buy  the 
earrings  afterwards." 

Knight,  somewhat  blamably,  keenly  enjoyed  sparring 
with  the  palpitating  little  creature  v/hose  excitable  nature 
made  any  such  thing  a  species  of  cruelty. 

He  looked  at  her  rather  oddly,  and  said,  "  Fie !  " 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  said,  laughing  a  little,  a  little 
frightened,  and  blushing  very  deeply. 

"  Ah,  Miss  Elfie,  why  didn't  you  say  at  first,  as  any 
firm  woman  would  have  said,  I  am  as  bad  as  she,  and  shall 
choose  the  same  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Elfride  wofully,  and  with  a  dis- 
tressful smile. 

I  thought  you  were  exceptionally  musical  ? " 


A   PAIR  OF  BLUE  EVES.  ig; 

"  So  I  am,  I  think.  But  the  test  is  so  severe— quite 
painful/' 

'^  r  don't  understand." 

"  Music  doesn't  do  any  real  good,  or  rather—" 

"  That  is  a  thing  to  say,  Miss  Swancourt !    Wliy  what—  " 

'*'  You  don't  understand  !  you  don't  understand  !  " 

"Why,  what  conceivable  use  is  there  in  jimcrack 
jewelry  ? " 

"No,  no,  no,  no!"  she  cried  petulantly;  ''I  didn't 
mean  what  you  think.     I  like  the  music  best,  only  I  like — " 

"  Earrings  better—own  it !  "  he  said,  in  a  teasing  tone. 
"  Well,  I  think  I  should  have  had  the  moral  courage  to 
own  it  at  once,  without  pretending  to  an  elevation  I  could 
not  reach." 

Like  the  French  soldiery,  Elfride  was  not  brave  when 
on  the  defensive.  So  it  was  almost  with  tears  in  her  eyes 
that  she  answered  desperately : 

"  My  meaning  is,  that  I  like  earrings  best  just  now, 
because  I  lost  one  of  my  prettiest  pair  last  year,  and  papa 
said  he  would  not  buy  any  more,  or  allow  me  to  myself, 
because  I  was  careless ;  and  now  I  wish  I  had  some  like 
them — that's  what  my  meaning  is — indeed  it  is,  Mr. 
Knight." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  been  very  harsh  and  rude,"  said 
Knight,  with  a  look  of  regret  at  s'eeing  how  disturbed  she 
was.  "  But  seriously,  if  women  only  knew  how  they  ruin 
their  good  looks  by  such  appurtenances,  I  am  sure  they 
would  never  want  them." 

"  They  were  lovely,  and  became  me  so  !  " 

"Not  if  they  were  like  the  ordinary  hideous  things 
women  stuff  their  ears  with  now-a-days — like  the  governor 
of  a  steam-engine,  or  a  pair  of  scales,  or  gold  gibbets  and 
chains,  and  artists'  palettes,  and  compensation  pendulums, 
and  Heaven  knows  what  besides." 

*'  No  ;  they  were  not  one  of  those  things.  So  pretty- 
like  this,"  she  said  with  eager  animation.  And  she  dre.v 
with  the  point  of  her  parasol  an  enlarged  view  of  one  cf 
the  lamented  darlings,  to  a  scale  that  would  have  suited  a 
giantess  half  a  mile  high. 

"  Yes,  very  pretty — very,"  said  Knight  dryly.  "  ilow 
did  you  come  to  lose  such  a  precious  pair  of  articles?" 


Ig3  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EVES. 

**  I  only  lost  one — nobody  ever  loses  both  at  the  same 
time." 

She  made  this  remark  with  embarrassment,  and  a  ner- 
vous movement  of  the  fingers.  Seeing  that  the  loss  oc- 
curred while  Stephen  Smith  was  attempting  to  kiss  her  for 
the  first  time  on  the  cliff,  her  confusion  was  hardly  to  be 
wondered  at.  The  question  had  been  awkward,  and  re- 
ceived no  direct  answer. 

Knight  seemed  not  to  notice  her  manner. 

"  O,  nobody  ever  loses  both — I  see.  And  certainly 
the  fact  that  it  was  a  case  of  loss  takes  away  all  odor  of 
vanity  from  your  choice." 

"  As  I  never  know  whether  you  are  in  earnest,  I  don't 
now,"  she  said,  looking  up  inquiringly  at  the  hairy  fiice 
of  the  oracle.  And  coming  gallantly  to  her  own  rescue  ; 
"  If  I  really  seem  vain,  it  is  that  I  am  only  vain  in  my 
ways — not  in  my  heart.  The  worst  women  are  those  vain 
in  their  hearts,  and  not  in  their  ways." 

"  An  adroit  distinction.  Well,  they  are  certainly  the 
more  objectionable  of  the  two,"  said  Knight. 

"  Is  vanity  a  mortal  or  a  venial  sin  ?  You  know  what 
life  is :  tell  me." 

"  I  am  very  far  from  knowing  what  life  is.  A  just  con- 
ception of  life  is  too  large  a  thing  to  grasp  during  the  short 
interval  of  passing  through  it." 

"Will  the  fact  of  a  woman  being  fond  of  jewelry  be 
likely  to  make  her  life,  in  its  higher  sense,  a  failure  ?" 

"Nobody's  life  is  altogether  a  failure," 

"  Well,  you  know  what  I  mean,  even  though  my  words 
are  badly  selected  and  commonplace,"  she  said  impa- 
tiently. "  Because  I  utter  commonplace  words,  you  must 
not  suppose  I  think  only  commonplace  thoughts.  My 
poor  stock  of  words  are  like  a  limited  number  of  rough 
moulds  I  have  to  cast  all  my  materials  in,  good  and  bad  ; 
and  the  novelty  or  delicacy  of  the  substance  is  often  lost 
in  the  coarse  triteness  of  the  form." 

"Very  well  ;  I'll  believe  that  ingenious  representation. 
As  to  the  subject  in  hand — lives  which  are  failure  s — you 
need  not  trouble  yourself  Anybody's  life  may  be  just  as 
romantic  and  strange  and  interesting  if  he  or  she  fails  as 
if  he  or  she  succeed.     All  the  difference  is,  that  the  last 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


189 


chapter  is  wanting  in  the  story.  If  a  man  of  power  tries 
to  do  a  great  deed,  and  just  falls  short  of  it  by  an  accident 
not  his  fault,  up  to  that  time  his  history  had  as  much  in  it 
as  that  of  a  great  man  who  has  done  his  great  deed.  It  is 
whimsical  of  the  world  to  hold  that  particulars  of  how  a 
lad  went  to  school  and  so  on  should  be  as  an  interesting 
romance  or  as  nothing  to  them,  precisely  as  the  lad  in 
after  years  becomes  renowned,  or,  with  the  power  to 
become  so,  does  not." 

They  were  walking  between  the  sunset  and  the  moon- 
rise.  With  the  dropping  of  the  sun  a  nearly  full  moon 
had  begun  to  show  itself.  Their  shadows,  as  cast  by  the 
western  glare,  showed  signs  of  becoming  obliterated  in  the 
interest  of  a  rival  pair  in  the  opposite  direction  which 
the  moon  was  bringing  to  distinctness. 

"I  consider  my  life  to  some  extent  a  failure,"  said 
Knight  again  after  a  pause,  during  which  he  had  noticed 
the  antagonistic  shadows. 

"  You  !     How  .?  " 

"  I  don't  precisely  know.  But  in  some  way  I  have 
missed  the  mark." 

"Really.?  To  have  done  it  is  not  much  to  be  sad 
about,  but  to  feel  that  you  have  done  it  must  be  a  cause 
of  sorrow.     Am  I  right  ?  " 

"  Partly,  though  not  quite.  For  a  sensation  of  being 
profoundly  experienced  serves  as  a  sort  of  consolation  to 
people  who  are  conscious  of  having  taken  wrong  turnings. 
Contradictory  as  it  seems,  there  is  nothing  truer  than  that 
people  who  have  always  gone  right  don't  know  half  as 
much  about  the  nature  and  ways  of  going  right  as  those 
who  have  gone  wrong.  However,  it  is  not  desirable  for 
me  to  chill  your  summer-time  by  going  into  this." 

"  You  have  not  told  me  even  now  if  I  am  really  vain." 

"  If  I  say  Yes,  I  shall  offend  you ;  if  I  say  No,  you'll 
think  I  don't  mean  it,"  he  replied,  looking  curiously  into 
her  face. 

"  Ah,  well,"  she  replied,  with  a  little  laugh  of  distress, 
"*  That  which  is  exceeding  deep,  who  shall  find  it  out?' 
I  suppose  I  must  take  you  as  I  do  the  Bible — find  out  and 
understand  all  I  can  ;  and  on  the  strength  of  that  swallow 
the  rest  in  a  lump,  by  simple  faith.     Think  me  vain,  if  you 


igO  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

will.  Worldly  greatness  requires  so  much  littleness  to 
grow  up  in,  tJiat  an  infirmity  more  or  less  is  not  a  mailer 
for  regret." 

"  As  regards  women,  I  can't  say,"  answered  Knight 
carelessly;  "but  it  is  without  doubt  a  misfortune  for  a 
man,  who  has  a  living  to  get,  to  be  born  of  a  truly  noble 
nature.  A  high  soul  will  bring  a  man  to  the  workhouse  ; 
so  you  may  be  right  in  sticking  up  for  vanity." 

"  No,  no,  I  don't  do  that,"  she  said  regretfully.  "  Mr. 
Knight,  when  you  are  gone,  will  you  send  me  something 
you  have  written  1  I  think  I  should  like  to  see  whether 
you  write  as  you  have  lately  spoken,  or  in  your  better 
mood.  Which  is  your  true  self — the  cynic  you  have  been 
this  evening,  or  the  nice  philosopher  you  were  up  to  to- 
night 1 " 

"  Ah,  which  ?     You  know  as  well  as  I." 

Their  conversation  detained  them  on  the  lawn  and  in 
the  portico  till  the  stars  blinked  out.  Elfride  flung  back 
her  head,  and  said  idly, 

"  There's  a  bright  star  exactly  over  me." 

"Each  bright  star  is  overhead  somewhere." 

"Is  it?  O  yes,  of  course.  Where  is  that  one?"  and 
she  pointed  with  her  finger. 

"  That  is  poised  like  a  white  hawk  over  one  of  the 
Cape  Verde  islands." 

"  And  that  ? " 

"  Looking  down  upon  the  source  of  the  Nile." 

"And  that  lonely  quiet-looking  one?" 

"  He  watches  the  North  Pole,  and  has  no  less  than  the 
whole  equator  for  his  horizon.  And  that  idle  one  low 
down  upon  the  ground,  that  we  have  almost  rolled  away 
from,  is  in  India — over  the  head  of  a  young  friend  of  mine, 
who  very  possibly  looks  at  the  star  in  our  zenith,  as  it 
hangs  low  upon  his  horizon,  and  thinks  of  it  as  marking 
where  his  true-love  dwells." 

Elfride  glanced  at  Knight  with  misgiving.  Did  he 
mean  her  ?  She  could  not  see  his  features  ;  but  his  atti- 
tude seemed  to  show  unconsciousness. 

"  The  star  is  over  7ny  head,"  she  said  with  hesitation, 

"  Or  anybody  else's  in  England." 

"  O  yes,  I  see,"  with  a  breath  of  relie£ 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


191 


"His  parents,  I  believe,  are  natives  of  this  county,  j 
don't  know  them,  though  I  have  been  in  correspondence 
with  him  for  many  years  till  lately.  Fortunately  or  unfor- 
tunately for  him,  he  fell  in  love,  and  then  went  to  Bombay. 
Since  that  time  I  have  heard  very  little  of  him." 

Knight  went  no  farther  in  his  volunteered  statement, 
and  though  Elfride  at  one  moment  was  inclined  to  profit 
by  the  lessons  in  honesty  he  had  just  been  giving  her,  the 
flesh  was  weak,  and  the  intention  dispersed  into  silence. 
There  seemed  a  reproach  in  Knight's  blind  words,  and 
yet  she  was  not  able  to  clearly  define  any  disloyalty  she 
had  been  guilty  of. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  A  DISTANT  DEARNESS  IN  THE  HILL." 

KNIGHT  turned  his  back  upon  the  parish  of  Endel* 
stow,  and  crossed  over  to  Cork. 

One  day  of  absence  superimposed  itself  on  another, 
and  proportionately  weighted  his  heart.  He  pushed  on  to 
the  Lakes  of  Killarney,  rambled  amid  their  luxuriant 
woods,  surveyed  the  infinite  variety  of  island,  hill,  and  dale 
to  be  there  found,  listened  to  the  marvellous  echoes  of  that 
romantic  spot  ;  but  altogether  missed  the  glory  and  the 
dream  he  formerly  found  in  such  favored  regions. 

While  in  the  company  of  Elfride,  her  girlish  presence 
had  not  perceptibly  affected  him  to  any  depth.  He  had 
not  been  conscious  that  her  entry  into  his  sphere  had  add- 
ed anything  to  himself ;  but  now  that  she  was  taken  away 
he  was  very  conscious  of  a  great  deal  being  abstracted.  The 
superfluity  had  become  a  necessity,  and  Knight  was  in  love. 

Stephen  fell  in  love  with  Elfride  by  looking  at  her  ; 
Knight  by  ceasing  to  do  so.  When  or  how  the  spirit  en- 
tered into  him  he  knew  not :  certain  he  was  that  when  on 
the  point  of  leaving  Endelstow  he  had  felt  none  of  that  ex- 
quisite nicety  of  poignant  sadness  natural  to  such  sever- 
ances, seeing  how  delightful  a  subject  of  contemplation 
Elfride  had  been  ever  since.  Plad  he  begun  to  love  her 
when  she  met  his  eye  after  her  mishap  on  the  tower }  He 
had  simply  thought  her  weak.  Had  he  grown  to  love  her 
while  standing  on  the  lawn  brightened  all  over  by  the  eve- 
ning sun  ?  He  had  thought  her  comphSxion  good :  no 
more.  Was  it  her  conversation  that  had  sown  the  seed  ? 
He  had  thought  her  words  ingenious,  and  very  creditable 
to  a  young  woman,  but  not  noteworthy.  Had  the  chess- 
playing  anything  to  do  with  it  ?  Certainly  not :  he  had 
U^ought  her  at  that  time  a  rather  conceited  child. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


193 


Knight's  experience  was  a  complete  disproof  of  the  as- 
sumption that  love  always  comes  by  glances  of  the  eye  and 
sympathetic  touches  of  the  fingers :  that,  like  flame,  it 
makes  itself  palpable  at  the  moment  of  generation.  Not 
till  they  were  parted,  and  she  had  become  sublimated  in 
his  memory,  could  he  be  said  to  have  even  attentively  re- 
garded her. 

Thus,  having  passively  gathered  up  images  of  her  which 
his  mind  did  not  act  upon  till  the  cause  of  them  was  no 
longer  before  him,  he  appeared  to  himself  to  have  fallen  in 
love  with  her  soul,  which  had  temporarily  assumed  its  dis- 
embodiment to  accompany  him  on  his  way. 

She  began  to  rule  him  so  imperiously  now  that,  accus- 
tomed to  analysis,  he  almost  trembled  at  the  possible  re- 
sult of  the  introduction  of  this  new  force  among  the  nicely 
adjusted  ones  of  his  ordinary  life.  He  became  restless : 
then  he  forgot  all  collateral  subjects  in  the  pleasure  of 
thinking  about  her. 

Yet  it  must  be  said  that  Knight  loved  philosophically 
rather  than  romantically. 

He  thought  of  her  manner  towards  him.  Simplicity 
verges  on  coquetry.  Was  she  flirting  ?  he  said  to  himself. 
No  forcible  translation  of  favor  into  suspicion  was  able  to 
uphold  such  a  theory.  The  performance  had  been  too 
well  done  to  be  anything  but  real.  It  had  the  defects  with- 
out which  nothing  is  genuine.  No  actress  of  twenty  years* 
standing,  no  fashionable  lady  whose  earliest  season  "  out " 
was  lost  in  the  discreet  mist  of  evasive  talk,  could  have 
played  before  him  the  part  of  ingenuous  girl  as  Elfride  liv- 
ed it.  She  had  the  little  artful  ways  which  partly  make  up 
ingenuousness. 

There  are  bachelors  by  nature  and  bachelors  by  cir- 
cumstance:  spinsters  there  doubtless  are  also  of  both 
kinds,  though  I  have  only  met  those  of  the  latter.  How- 
ever, Knight  had  been  looked  upon  as  a  bachelor  by  na- 
ture. What  was  he  coming  to?  It  was  very  odd  to  him- 
self to  look  at  his  theories  on  the  subject  of  love,  and 
reading  them  now  by  the  full  light  of  a  new  experience,  to 
see  how  much  more  his  sentences  meant  than  he  had  felt 
them  to  mean  when  they  were  written.  People  often  dis- 
cover  the   real  force   of  a  trite  old  maxim  only  when  it  is 


194 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EVILS. 


thrust  upon  them  by  a  chance  adventure  ;  but  Knight  had 
never  before  known  the  case  of  a  man  who  learned  the  full 
compass  of  his  own  epigrams  by  such  means. 

He  v/as  intensely  satisfied  with  one  aspect  of  the  affair. 
Inbred  in  him  was  an  invincible  objection  to  be  any  but 
the  first  comer  in  a  woman's  heart.  He  had  discovered 
>*'ithin  himself  the  condition  that  if  ever  he  did  make  up 
his  mind  to  marry,  it  must  be  on  the  certainty  that  no 
cropping  out  of  inconvenient  old  letters,  no  bow  and  blush 
to  a  mysterious  stranger  casually  met,  should  be  a  possible 
source  of  discomposure.  Knight's  sentiments  were  only 
the  ordinary  ones  of  a  man  of  his  age  who  loves  warmly, 
perhaps  exaggerated  a  little  by  his  pursuits.  When  men 
first  love  as  lads,  it  is  with  the  very  centre  of  their  hearts, 
nothing  else  being  concerned  in  the  operation.  With  add- 
ed years,  more  of  the  faculties  attempt  a  partnership  in  the 
passion,  till  at  Knight's  age  the  understanding  is  fain  to 
have  a  hand  in  it.  It  may  as  well  be  left  out.  A  man  in 
love  setting  up  his  brains  as  a  gauge  of  his  position  is  like 
determining  a  ship's  longitude  from  a  light  at  the  mast- 
head. 

Knight  argued  from  Elfride's  unwontedness  of  ma>nner, 
which  was  matter  of  fact,  to  an  unwontedness  in  love,  which 
was  matter  of  inference  only.  Licredides  les  plus  cr'edides. 
"  Elfride,"  he  said,  "  had  hardly  looked  upon  a  man  till 
she  saw  me." 

He  had  never  forgotten  his  severity  to  her  because  she 
preferred  ornament  to  edification,  and  had  since  excused 
her  a  hundred  times  by  thinking  how  natural  to  woman- 
kind was  a  love  of  adornment,  and  how  necessary  became 
a  mild  infusion  of  personal  vanity  to  complete  the  delicate 
and  fascinating  dye  of  the  feminine  mind.  So  at  the  end 
of  a  week's  absence,  which  had  brought  him  as  far  as  Dub- 
lin, he  resolved  to  curtail  his  tour,  return  to  Endelstow, 
and  commit  himself  by  making  a  reality  of  the  hypothetical 
offer  of  that  Sunday  evening. 

Notwithstanding  that  he  had  concocted  a  great  deal  of 
paper  theory  on  social  amenities,  and  modern  manners 
generally,  the  special  ounce  of  practice  was  wanting,  and 
now  for  his  life  Knight  could  not  recollect  whether  it  was 
considered  correct  to  gi  'e  a  young  lady  personal  orna* 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  I95 

ments  before  a  regular  engagement  to  marry  liad  been  ini- 
tiated. But  the  day  before  leaving  Dublin  he  looked 
around  anxiously  for  a  high-class  jewelry  establishment,  in 
which  he  purchased  what  he  considered  would  suit  her 
best. 

It  was  with  a  most  awkward  and  unwonted  feeling  that 
aftei  entering  and  closing  the  door  of  his  room  he  sat  down, 
opened  the  morocco  case,  and  held  up  each  of  the  fragile 
bits  of  gold- work  before  his  eyes.     Many  things  had  be- 
come old  to  the  solitary  man  of  letters,  but  these  were  new, 
and  he  handled  like  a  child    an  outcome   of  civilization 
which  had  never  before  been  touched  by  his  fingers.     A 
sudden  fastidious   decision  that  the  pattern  chosen  would 
not  suit  he  -after  all  caused  him  to  rise  in  a  flurry  and  tear 
down  the  street  to  change  them  for  others.     After  a  groat 
deal  of  trouble  in  re-selecting,  during  which  his  mind  bo- 
came  so  bewildered  that  the  critical  faculty  on  objects  ol 
art  seemed  to  have  deserted  and  left  him  helpless,  Knight 
carried  off  another  pair  of  ear-rings.     These  remained  in 
his  possession  till  the  afternoon,  when,  after  contemplating 
them  fifty  times   with   a  growing  misgiving  that  the   last 
choice  was  worse  than  the  first,  he  felt  that  no  sleep  would 
visit  his  pillow  till  he  had  improved  upon  his  previous  pur- 
chases yet  again.     In  a  perfect  heat  of  vexation  with  him- 
self for  such  tergiversation,  he  went  anew  to  the  shop-door, 
was  absolutely  ashamed  to  enter  and  give  further  trouble, 
went  to   another  shop,  bought  a  pair  at  an  enormously  in- 
creased price   because  they  seemed   the  very  thing,  asked 
the  goldsmiths  if  they  would   take  the  other  pair  in  ex- 
change,  was   told   that  they  could   not  exchange   -articles 
bought  of  another  maker,  paid  down  the  money,  and  went 
off  with  the  two  pairs  in  his  possession,  wondering  what  on 
earth  to  do  with  the  superiiuous  pair.     He  almost  wished 
he  could  lose  them,  or   that  somebody  would   steal  them, 
and  was  burdened   with   the  idea  that,  as  a  sensible  man, 
with  true  ideas  of  economy,  he  must  necessarily  sell  them 
somewhere.     Mingled  with  a  blank  feeling  of  a  whole  day 
being  lost   to   him   in  running  about   the   city  on  this  new 
and  extraordinary  class  of  errand,  and  of  several  pounds 
being  lost  through  his  bungling,  was  a  slight  sense  of  satis- 
faction that  he  had  emerged  forever  from  his  antediluvian 


196  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

ignorance  on  the  subject  of  ladies'  jewelry,  as  well  as  se- 
cured a  truly  artistic  production  at  last.  During  the  re- 
mainder of  that  day  he  scanned  the  ornaments  of  every 
lady  he  met  with  the  profoundly  experienced  eye  of  an  ap- 
praiser. 

Next  morning  Knight  was  again  crossing  St.  George's 
Channel — not  returning  to  London  by  the  Holyhead  route 
as  he  had  originally  intended,  but  towards  Bristol — availing 
himself  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Swancourt's  invitation  to  revisit 
them  on  his  homeward  journey. 

We  flit  forward  to  Elfride. 

Woman's  ruling  passion — to  fascinate  and  influence 
those  more  powerful  than  she — though  operant  in  Elfride, 
was  decidedly  purposeless.  She  had  wanted  her  friend 
Knight's  good  opinion  from  the  first :  how  much  more  than 
that  elementary  ingredient  of  friendship  she  now  desired, 
her  fears  would  hardly  allow  her  to  think.  In  originally 
wi:;hing  to  please  the  highest  class  of  man  she  had  ever  in- 
timately known,  there  was  no  disloyalty  to  Stephen  Smith. 
She  could  not — and  few  women  can — realize  the  possible 
vastness  of  an  issue  which  has  only  an  insignificant  cause. 

Her  letters  from  Stephen  were  necessarily  few,  and  her 
sense  of  fidelity  clung  to  the  last  she  had  received  as  a 
wrecked  mariner  clings  to  flotsam.  The  young  girl  per- 
suaded herself  that  she  was  glad  Stephen  had  such  a  right 
to  her  hand  as  he  had  acquired  (in  her  eyes)  by  the  elope- 
ment. She  beguiled  herself  by  saying,  "  Perhaps  if  I  had 
not  so  committed  myself  I  might  fall  in  love  with  Mr. 
Knight." 

All  this  made  the  week  of  Knight's  absence  very  gloomy 
and  distasteful  to  her.  She  had  retained  Stephen  in  her 
prayers,  and  his  old  letters  were  re-read — as  a  medicine  in 
reality,  though  she  deceived  herself  into  the  belief  that  it 
was  as  a  pleasure. 

These  letters  had  grown  more  and  more  hopeful.  He 
told  her  that  he  finished  work  every  day  with  a  pleasant 
consciousness  of  having  removed  one  more  stone  from  the 
barrier  which  divided  them.  Then  he  drew  images  of  what 
a  fine  figure  they  tv/o  would  cut  some  day.  People  would 
turn  their  heads  and  say,  "  What  a  prize  he  has  won."  She 
was  not  to  be  sad  about  that  wild  runaway  attempt  of  theirs 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


197 


(Elfride  had  repeatedly  said  that  it  grieved  her).  What- 
ever any  other  person  who  knew  of  it  might  think,  he  knew 
well  enough  the  modesty  of  her  nature.  The  only  reproach 
was  a  gentle  one  for  not  having  written  quite  so  devotedly 
during  her  visit  from  London.  Her  letter  had  seemed  to 
have  a  liveliness  derived  from  other  thoughts  than  thoughts 
of  him. 

Knight's  intention  of  an  early  return  to  Endelstow  hav- 
ing originally  been  faint,  his  promise  to  do  so  had  been 
fainter.  He  was  a  man  who  kept  his  words  well  to  the  rear 
of  his  possible  actions.  The  vicar  was  rather  surprised  to 
see  him  again  so  soon:  Mrs.  Swancourt  was  not.  Knight 
found,  on  meeting  them  all,  after  his  arrival  had  been  an- 
nounced, that  they  had  formed  an  intention  to  go  to  St. 
Leonard's  for  a  few  days  at  the  end  of  the  month. 

No  satisfactory  opportunity  offered  itself  on  this  first 
evening  of  his  return  for  presenting  Elfride  with  what  he 
had  been  at  such  pains  to  procure.  He  was  fastidious  in 
his  reading  of  opportunities  of  such  a  kind.  The  next 
morning  chancing  to  break  fine  after  a  week  of  cloudy 
weather,  it  was  proposed  and  decided  that  they  should  all 
drive  to  Barwith  Bay,  a  local  lion  which  neither  Mrs.  Swan- 
court  nor  Knight  had  seen.  Knight  scented  romantic  oc- 
casions from  afar,  and  foresaw  that  such  a  one  might  be 
expected  before  the  coming  night. 

The  journey  was  along  a  road  by  neutral  green  hills, 
upon  which  hedgerows  lay  trailing  like  ropes  on  a  quay. 
Gaps  in  these  uplands  revealed  the  blue  sea,  flecked  with 
a  few  dashes  of  white  and  a  solitary  white  sail,  the  whole 
brimming  up  to  a  keen  horizon  which  lay  like  a  line  ruled 
from  hill-side  to  hill-side.  Then  they  rolled  down  a  pass, 
the  chocolate-toned  rocks  forming  a  wall  on  both  sides,  from 
one  of  which  fell  a  heavy  jagged  shade  over  half  the  road- 
way. A  spout  of  fresh  water  burst  from  an  occasional  crev- 
ice, and  pattering  down  upon  broad  green  leaves,  ran  along 
as  a  rivulet  at  the  bottom.  Unkempt  locks  of  heather  over- 
hung the  br^w  of  each  steep,  whence  at  divers  points  a 
bramble  swung  forth  into  mid-air,  snatching  at  their  head- 
dresses like  a  claw. 

They  mounted  the  last  ctest,  and  the  bay  which  was  ro 


198 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


be  the  end  of  their  pilgrimage  burst  upon  them.  The  ocean 
blueness  deepened  its  color  as  it  stretched  to  the  feet  of 
the  crags,  where  it  terminated  in  a  fringe  of  white — silent 
at  this  distance,  though  moving  and  heaving  like  a  counter- 
pane upon  a  restless  sleeper.  The  shadowed  hollows  of  the 
purple-and-brown  rocks  would  have  been  called  blue  had 
not  that  tint  been  so  entirely  appropriated  by  the  water  be- 
side them. 

The  carriage  was  put  up  at  a  little  cottage  with  a  shed 
attached,  and  an  ostler  and  the  coachman  carried  the  hamper 
of  provisions  down  to  the  shore. 

Knight  found  his  opportunity.  "  1  did  not  forget  your 
wish,"  he  began,  when  they  were  apart  from  their  friends. 

Elfride  looked  as  if  she  did  not  understand. 

"  And  I  have  brought  you  these,"  he  continued,  awk- 
wardly pulling  out  a  case,  and  opening  it  while  holding  it 
towards  her. 

"O,  Mr.  Knight,"  said  Elfride,  confused,  and  turning  to 
a  lively  red  ;  "I  didn't  know  you  had  any  intention  or  mean- 
ing in  what  you  said.  I  thought  it  a  mere  supposition.,  I 
don't  want  them." 

A  thought  which  had  flashed  into  her  mind  gave  the  re- 
ply a  greater  decisiveness  than  it  might  otherwise  have  pos- 
sessed.    To-morrow  was  the  day  for  Stephen's  letter. 

"  But  will  you  not  accept  them  ?  "  Knight  returned,  feel- 
ing less  her  master  than  heretofore. 

"I  would  rather  not.  They  are  beautiful — more  beau- 
tiful than  any  I  have  ever  seen,"  she  answered  earnestly, 
looking  half-wishfully  at  the  temptation,  as  Eve  may  have 
looked  at  the  apple.  "  But  I  don't  want  to  have  them,  if 
you  will  kindly  forgive  me,  Mr.  Knight." 

*'  No  kindness  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Knight,  brought  to  a 
full  stop  at  this  unexpected  turn  of  events. 

A  silence  followed.  Knight  held  the  open  case,  looking 
rather  wofully  at  the  glittering  forms  he  had  taken  such 
trouble  to  procure  ;  turning  it  about  and  holding  it  up  as  if, 
feeling  his  gift  to  be  slighted  by  her,  he  was  resolved  to  ad- 
mire it  very  much  himself. 

"  Shut  them  up,  and  don't  let  me  see  them  any  longei 
— do  !  "  she  said  aughingly,  and  with  a  quaint  mixture  of 
reluctance  and  entreaty. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


199 


"Why,  Elfie?" 

*'  Not  Elfie  to  you,  Mr.  Knight  O,  because  I  shall 
want  them.  There,  I  am  silly,  I  know,  to  say  that.  But 
I  have  a  reason  for  not  taking  them — now."  She  kept  in 
the  last  word  for  a  moment,  intending  to  imply  that  her  re- 
fusal was  finite,  but  somehow  the  word  slipped  out,  and  un- 
did all  the  rest. 

"  You  will  take  them  some  day  ?  " 

*'  I  don't  want  to." 

"  Why  don't  you,  Mistress  Elfride  Swancourt  ?  " 

*'  Because  I  don't.     I  don't  like  to  take  them." 

"I  have  read  a  fact  of  distressing  significance  in  that," 
said  Knight.  "  Since  you  like  them,  your  dislike  to  havmg 
them  must  be  towards  me  ? " 

"  No,  it  isn't." 

*'  What,  then,  do  you  like  me  ?  " 

Elfride  looked  into  the  distance  with  features  shaped  to 
an  expression  of  the  nicest  criticism  as  regarded  her  an- 
swer. 

"  I  like  you  pretty  well,"  she  at  length  murmured, 
mildly. 

"  Not  very  much  } " 

"  You  are  so  sharp  with  me,  and  say  hard  things,  and  so 
how  can  I  ?  "  she  replied  evasively. 

"  You  think  me  a  fogey,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  No,  I  don't — I  mean  I  do — 1  don't  know  what  I  think 
you,  I  mean.  Let  us  go  to  papa,"  responded  Elfride,  with 
somewhat  of  a  flurried  delivery. 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  my  object  in  getting  the  present," 
said  Knight,  with  a  composure  intended  to  remove  from 
her  mind  any  possible  impression  of  his  being  what  he  vias 
— her  lover.  *'  You  see  it  was  the  very  least  I  could  do  irv 
common  civility." 

Elfride  felt  rather  blank  at  this  lucid  statement. 

"  Knight  continued,  putting  away  the  case,  "  I  felt  as 
'Anybody  naturally  would  have,  you  know,  that  my  words  on 
your  choice  the  other  day  were  invidious  and  unfair,  and 
thought  an  apology  should  take  a  practical  shape." 

"0,  yes." 

"  Elfride  was  sorry — she  could  not  tell  why — that  he 
gave  such  a  legitimate  reason.     It  was  a  disappointment 


200  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

that  he  had  all  the  time  a  cool  motive,  wnich  might  be  stated 
to  anybody  without  raising  a  smile.  Had  she  known  they 
were  offered  in  that  spirit,  she  would  certainly  have  accepted 
the  seductive  gift  And  the  tantalizing  feature  was  that 
perhaps  he  suspected  her  to  imagine  them  offered  as  a  lever's 
token,  which  was  mortifying  enough  if  they  were  not. 

•'  Mrs.  Swancourt  came  now  to  where  they  were  sitting, 
to  select  a  point  for  spreading  their  table,  and  amid  the 
discussion  upon  that  subject,  the  matter  pending  between 
Knight  and  Eifride  was  shelved  for  a  while.  He  read  her 
refusal  so  certainly  as  the  bashfulness  of  a  girl  in  a  novel 
position,  that  upon  the  whole  he  could  tolerate  such  a  be- 
ginning. Could  Knight  have  been  told  that  it  was  a  sense 
of  fidelity  strugghng  against  new  love,  while  no  less  assur- 
ing as  to  his  ultimate  victory,  it  would  have  entirely  abstract- 
ed the  wish  to  secure  it. 

At  the  same  time  a  slight  constraint  of  manner  was  vis- 
ible in  them  for  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon.  The 
tide  turned,  and  they  were  obliged  to  ascend  to  higher 
ground.  The  day  glided  on  to  its  end  in  the  usual  quiet 
dreamy  passivity  of  such  occasions — when  every  deed  done 
and  thing  thought  is  in  endeavoring  to  avoid  doing  and 
thinking  more.  Looking  idly  ov^er  the  verge  of  a  crag,  they 
beheld  their  dining-table  gradually  being  splashed  upon 
and  their  crumbs  and  fragments  all  washed  away  by  the  in- 
coming sea.  The  vicar  drew  a  moral  lesson  from  the 
scene ;  Knight  replied  in  the  same  satisfied  strain.  And 
then  the  waves  rolled  in  furiously — the  neutral  green-and- 
blue  tongues  of  water  slid  up  the  slopes,  and  were  meta- 
morphosed into  foam  by  a  careless  blow,  falling  back  white 
and  faint,  and  leaving  trailing  followers  behind. 

The  falling  of  a  heavy  shower  was  the  next  scene — 
driving  them  to  shelter  in  a  shallow  cave — after  which  the 
horses  were  put  in,  and  they  started  to  return  homeward. 
By  the  time  they  reached  the  higher  levels,  the  sky  had 
again  cleared,  and  the  sunset  rays  glanced  directly  upon 
the  wet  uphill  road  they  had  climbed.  The  ruts  formed  by 
their  carriage-wheels  on  the  ascent — a  pair  of  Liliputian  ca- 
nals— were  as  so  many  shining  bars  of  gold,  tapering  to 
nothing  in  the  distance.  Upon  this  also  they  turned  their 
backs,  and  night  spread  over  the  sea. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  201 

The  evening  was  chilly,  and  there  was  no  moon.  Knight 
sat  close  to  Elfride,  and,  when  the  darkness  rendered  the 
position  of  a  person  a  matter  of  uncertainty,  particularly 
close.     Elfride  edged  away. 

"  I  hope  you  allow  me  my  place  ungrudgingly  ?  "  he 
whispered. 

*'  O,  yes  ;  'tis  the  least  I  can  do  in  common  civility,"  she 
said,  accenting  the  words  so  that  he  might  recognize  them 
as  his  own  returned. 

Both  of  them  felt  delicately  balanced  between  two  pos 
sibilities.     Thus  they  reached  home. 

To  Knight  this  mild  experience  was  delightful.  It  was 
to  him  a  gentle  innocent  time — a  time  which,  though  there 
may  not  be  much  in  it,  seldom  repeats  itself  in  a  man's  life, 
and  has  a  peculiar  dearness  when  glanced  at  retrospective- 
ly. He  is  not  inconveniently  deep  in  love,  and  is  lulled  by 
a  peaceful  sense  of  being  able  to  enjoy  the  most  trivial 
thing  with  a  childlike  enjoN'ment.  The  movement  of  a 
wave,  the  color  of  a  stone,  anything,  was  enough  for  Knight's 
drowsy  thoughts  of  that  day  to  precipitate  themselves  upon. 
Even  the  sermonizing  platitudes  the  vicar  had  delivered 
himself  of — chiefly  because  something  seemed  to  be  pro- 
fessionally required  of  him  in  the  presence  of  a  man  ol 
Knight's  proclivities — were  swallowed  whole.  The  pres- 
ence of  Elfride  led  him  not  merely  to  tolerate  that  kind  of 
talk  from  the  necessities  of  ordinary  courtesy  ;  but  he  lis- 
tened to.it — took  in  the  ideas  with  an  enjoyable  make-be- 
lieve that  they  were  proper  and  necessary,  and  indulged  in 
a  conservative  feeling  that  the  face  of  things  was  complete. 

Entering  her  room  that  evening,  Elfride  found  a  packet 
for  herself  on  the  dressing-table.  How  it  came  there  she 
did  not  know.  She  tremblingly  undid  the  folds  of  white 
paper  that  covered  it.  Yes  ;  it  was  the  treasure  of  a  mo- 
rocco case,  containing  those  treasures  of  ornament  she  had 
refused  in  the  daytime. 

Elfride  dressed  herself  in  them  for  a  moment,  looked 
at  herself  in  the  glass,  blushed  red,  and  put  them  away. 
They  filled  her  dreams  all  that  night.  Never  had  she  seen 
anything  so  lovely,  and  never  was  it  more  clear  that  as  an 
honest  woman  she  was  in  duty  bound  to  refuse  them. 
Why  it  was  not  equally  clear  to  her  that  duty  required 

9* 


202  ^  ^^^^  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

more  vigorous  coordinate  conduct  as  well,  let  those  who 
blame  her  say. 

The  next  morning  glared  in  like  a  spectre  upon  her. 
It  was  Stephen's  letter-day,  and  she  was  bound  to  meet  the 
postman— to  stealthily  do  a  deed  she  had  never  liked,  wO 
secure  an  end  she  had  now  ceased  to  desire. 

But  she  went. 

There  were  two  letters. 

One  was  from  the  bank  at  St.  Kirr's,  in  which  she  had 
a  small  private  deposit — probably  something  about  inter- 
est. She  put  that  in  her  pocket  for  a  moment,  and  going 
in-doors  and  up  stairs,  to  be  safer  from  observation,  trem- 
blingly opened  Stephen's. 

What  was  this  he  said  to  her  ? 

She  was  to  go  to  the  St.  Kirr's  bank  and  take  a  sum  of 
money  which  they  had  received  private  advices  to  pay  her. 

The  sum  was  two  hundred  pounds. 

There  was  no  check,  order,  or  anything  in  the  nature 
of  guarantee.  In  fact  the  information  amounted  to  this  : 
the  money  was  now  in  the  St  Kirrs  bank,  standing  in  her 
name. 

She  instantly  opened  the  other  letter.  It  contained  a 
deposit  note  from  the  bank  for  the  sum  of  two  hundred 
pounds  which  had  that  day  been  added  to  her  account. 
Stephen's  information,  then,  was  correct,  and  the  transfer 
made. 

"  I  have  earned  this  in  one  year,"  Stephen's  letter  went 
on  to  say,  "  and  what  so  proper  as  well  as  pleasant  for  me 
to  do  as  to  hand  it  over  to  you  to  keep  for  our  use  ?  I 
have  plenty  for  myself  independently  of  this.  Should  you 
not  be  disposed  to  let  it  lie  idle  in  the  bank,  get  your 
father  to  invest  it  in  your  name  on  good  security.  It  is  a 
little  present  to  you  from  your  more  than  betrothed.  He 
will,  I  think,  Elfride,  feel  now  that  my  pretentions  to  your 
hand  are  anything  but  the  dream  of  a  silly  boy,  not  worth 
rational  consideration." 

With  a  natural  delicacy,  Elfride,  in  mentioning  her 
father's  marriage,  had  refrained  from  all  allusion  to  the 
pecuniary  resources  of  the  lady. 

Leaving  this  matter-of-fact  subject,  he  went  on,  some 
what  after  his  boyish  manner  : 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES,  203 

"  Do  you  remember,  darling,  that  first  morning  of  my 
arrival  at  your  house,  when  your  father  read  at  prayers  the 
miracle  of  healing  the  sick  of  the  palsy — where  he  is  told 
to  take  up  his  bed  and  walk  ?  I  do,  and  I  can  now  so 
well  realize  the  force  of  that  passage.  The  smallest  piece 
of  mat  is  the  bed  of  the  Oriental,  and  yesterday  I  saw  a 
native  perform  the  very  action,  which  reminded  me  to  men- 
tion it     But  you  are  better  read  than  I,  and  perhaps  you 

knew  all  this  long  ago One  day  I  bought  some  small 

native  idols  to  send  home  to  you  as  curiosities,  but  after- 
wards finding  they  had  been  cast  in  England,  made  to  look 
old,  and  shipped  over,  I  threw  them  away  in  disgust. 

"  Speaking  of  this  reminds  me  that  we  are  obliged  to 
import  all  our  house-building  iron-work  from  England. 
Never  was  such  foresight  required  to  be  exercised  in  build- 
ing houses  as  here.  Before  we  begin,  we  have  to  order 
every  column,  lock,  hinge,  and  screw  that  will  be  required. 
We  cannot  go  into  the  next  street,  as  in  London,  and  get 
them  cast  at  a  minute's  notice.  Mr.  L.  says  somebody  will 
have  to  go  to  England  very  soon  and  superintend  the  se- 
lection of  a  large  order  of  this  kind.  I  only  wish  I  may 
be  the  man." 

There  before  her  lay  the  deposit  receipt  for  the  two 
hundred  pounds,  and  beside  it  the  elegant  present  of 
Knight.  Elfride  grew  cold— then  her  cheeks  felt  scorched, 
as  if  by  fire.  If  by  destroying  the  piece  of  paper  the  whole 
transaction  could  have  been  withdrawn  from  her  experience, 
she  w^ould  willingly  have  sacrificed  the  money  it  repre- 
sented. She  did  not  know  what  to  do  in  either  case.  She 
almost  feared  to  let  the  two  articles  lie  in  juxtaposition : 
so  antagonistic  were  the  interests  they  represented  that  a 
miraculous  repulsion  of  one  by  the  other  was  almost  to  be 
expected. 

That  day  she  was  seen  little  of.  By  the  evening  she 
had  come  to  a  resolution,  and  acted  upon  it.  The  packet 
was  sealed  up — with  a  tear  of  regret  as  she  closed  the  case 
upon  the  pretty  forms  it  contained — directed,  and  placed 
upon  the  writing-table  in  Knight's  room.  And  a  letter  was 
written  to  Stephen,  stating  that  as  yet  she  hardly  under 
stood  her  position  with  regard  to  the  money  sent ;  but  de- 
claring she  was  ready  to  fulfill  her  promise  to  marry  hinL 


ift. 


204 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  E\  ES. 


After  this  letter  had  been  written  she  delayed  posting  it — al< 
IhoLigh  she  did  not  cease  to  feel  that  the  deed  must  be  done. 

Several  days  passed.  There  was  another  Indian  letter 
for  Elfride.  Coming  miexpectedly,  her  father  saw  it,  but 
made  no  remark — why,  she  could  not  tell.  The  news  this 
time  was  absolutely  overwhelming.  Stephen,  as  he  had 
wished,  had  been  actually  chosen  as  the  most  fitting  to  ex- 
ecute the  iron-work  commission  he  had  alluded  to  as  im- 
pending. This  duty  completed,  he  had  three  months' 
leave.  His  letter  continued  that  he  should  -follow  it  in  a 
week,  and  should  take  the  opportunity  to  plainly  ask  her 
father  to  permit  the  engagement.  Then  came  a  page  ex- 
pressive of  his  delight  and  hers  at  the  reunion,  and  finally, 
the  information  that  he  would  write  to  the  shipping  agents, 
asking  them  to  telegraph  and  tell  her  when  the  ship  bring- 
ing him  home  should  be  in  sight — knowing  how  accepta- 
ble such  information  would  be. 

Elfride  lived  and  moved  now  as  in  a  dream.  Knight 
had  at  first  become  almost  angry  at  her  persistent  refusal 
of  his  offering — and  no  less  with  the  manner  than  the  fact 
of  it.  But  he  saw  that  she  began  to  look  worn  and  ill — 
and  his  vexation  lessened  to  simple  perplexity. 

He  ceased  now  to  remain  in  the  house  for  long  hours 
together  as  before,  but  made  it  a  mere  centre  for  antiqua- 
rian and  geological  excursions  in  the  neighborhood.  Throw 
up  his  cards  and  go  away  he  fain  would  have  done,  but 
could  not.  And  thus,  availing  himself  of  the  privileges  of 
a  relative,  he  went  in  and  out  the  premises  as  fancy  led 
him — but  still  lingered  on. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  stay  here  another  day  if  my  presence 
is  distasteful,"  he  said  one  afternoon.  "  At  first  you  used 
to  imply  that  I  was  severe  with  you ;  and  when  I  am  kind 
you  treat  me  unfairly." 

"  No,  no.     Don't  say  so." 

The  origin  of  their  acquaintanceship  had  been  such  as 
to  render  their  manner  towards  each  other  peculiar  and 
uncommon.  It  was  of  a  kind  to  cause  them  to  speak  out 
their  minds  on  any  feelings  of  objection  and  difference :  to 
be  reticent  on  gentler  matters. 

"  I  have  a  good  mind  to  go  away  and  never  trouble  you 
again,"  ctnitinued  Knight. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  20$ 

She  said  nothing,  but  the  eloquent  expression  of  her 
eyes  and  wan  face  was  enough  to  reproach  him  for  harsh- 
ness. 

"  Do  you  like  me  to  be  here,  then  ?  "  Knight  inquired 
gently. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  Fidelity  to  the  old  love  and  truth  to 
the  new  were  ranged  on  opposite  sides,  and  truth  virtuelessly 
prevailed. 

"  Then  I'll  stay  a  little  longer,"  said  Knight. 

"  Don't  be  vexed  if  I  keep  by  myself  a  good  deal,  will 
you  ?  Perhaps  something  may  happen,  and  I  may  tell  you 
something." 

"Mere  coyness,"  said  Knight  to  himself ;  and  went  away 
with  a  lighter  heart.  The  trick  of  reading  truly  enigmatical 
forces  at  work  in  woman  at  given  times,  which  with  some 
men  is  an  unerring  instinct,  is  peculiar  to  minds  less  direct 
and  honest  than  Knight's. 

The  next  evening,  about  five  o'clock,  before  Knight  had 
returned  from  a  pilgrimage  along  the  shore,  a  man  walked 
up  to  the  house.  He  was  a  messenger  from  the  station  at 
Stranton,  to  which  place  the  railway  had  been  advanced 
during  the  summer. 

A  telegram  for  Miss  Swancourt,  and  a  shilling  to  pay 
for  a  special  messenger. 

Miss  Swancourt  sent  out  the  money,  signed  the  paper, 
and  opened  her  letter  with  a  trembling  hand.     She  read  : 
*  yohnson^  Liverpool^  to  Miss   Swancourt^  Endelstow^  near 

Stranton. 

*  Amaryllis  telegraphed  of  Holyhead  four  o'clock.  Ex- 
pect will  dock  and  land  passengers  at  Cantti?ig's  Basin  ten  o'clock 
*o  morrow  77iorning.' 

Her  father  called  her  into  the  study. 

"  Elfride,  who  sent  you  that  message  ? "  lie  asked  su* 
oiciously. 

"Johnson." 

"  Who  is  Johnson,  for  Heaven's  sake  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

*'  The  deuce  you  don't !     Who  is  to  know,  then  ?  ** 

"  I  have  never  heard  of  him  till  now." 

"  That's  a  singular  story,  isn't  it  ?  " 

« I  don't  know." 


2o6  ^   P^^R  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

"  Ccme,  come,  miss  !   AVhat  was  the  telegram  ?" 

"  Do  you  really  wish  to  know,  papa  ? " 

"  Well,  I  do." 

"  Remember,  I  am  a  full-grown  woman  now." 

"  Well,  what  then  ?  " 

"  Being  a  woman,  and  not  a  child,  I  may,  I  think,  hava 
a  secret  or  two." 

"  You  will,  it  seems." 

"  Women  have,  as  a  rule." 

"  But  don't  keep  them.     So  speak  out." 

"If  you  will  not  press  me  now,  I  give  my  word  to  tell 
you  the  meaning  of  all  this  before  the  week  is  past." 

"  On  your  honor  ?  " 

"On  my  honor." 

"  Very  well.  I  have  had  a  certain  suspicion,  you  know ; 
and  I  shall  be  glad  to  find  it  false.  I  don't  like  your  man- 
ner lately." 

"  At  the  end  of  the  week,  I  said,  papa." 

Her  father  did  not  reply,  and  Elfride  left  the  room. 

She  began  to  look  out  for  the  postman  again.  The 
next  morning  he  brought  an  ir  ind  letter  from  Stephen. 
It  contained  very  little  matter,  having  been  written  in 
haste  ;  but  the  meaning  was  bulky  enough.  Stephen  said 
he  should  arrive  at  his  father's  house.  East  Endelstow,  at 
five  or  six  o'clock  that  same  evening  ;  that  he  would  after 
dusk  walk  on  to  the  next  village,  and  meet  her,  if  she 
would,  in  the  church  porch,  as  in  the  old  time.  He  pro- 
posed this  plan  because  he  thought  it  unadvisable  to  call 
formally  at  her  house  so  late  in  the  evening ;  yet  he  could 
not  sleep  without  having  seen  her.  The  minutes  would 
seem  hours  till  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms. 

Elfride  was  still  steadfast  in  her  opinion  that  honoi 
compelled  her  to  meet  him.  Probably  the  very  longing  to 
avoid  him  lent  additional  weight  to  the  conviction  ;  for  she 
»vas  markedly  one  of  those  who  sigh  for  the  unattainable — 
to  whom,  superlatively,  a  hope  is  pleasing  because  not  a 
possession.  And  she  knew  it  so  well,  that  her  intellect  was 
inclined  to  exaggerate  this  defect  in  herself 

So  during  the  day  she  looked  her  duty  steadfastly  in  the 
face ;  read  Wordsworth's  repressing  and  depressing  ode  to 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 


207 


that  deity ;  committed  herself  to  her  guidance  ;  and  still  felt 
the  weight  of  chance  desires. 

But  she  began  to  take  a  melancholy  pleasure  in  contem- 
plating the  sacrifice  of  herself  to  the  man  whom  a  maidenly 
sense  of  propriety  compelled  her  to  regard  as  her  only  pos- 
sible husband.  Shi>  would  meet  h*m,  and  do  all  that  lay  in 
her  power  to  marry  >ka3a. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

"  ON  THE  COLD  GREY  STONES,  O  SEA  1  '* 


STEPHEN  had  said  that  he  should  come  by  way  of 
Bristol,  and  thence  by  the  steamer  to  Stranton,  in  order 
to  avoid  the  long  journey  over  the  hills  from  St.  Kirr's. 
He  did  not  know  of  the  extension  of  the  railway. 

During  the  afternoon  a  thought  occurred  to  Elfride, 
that  from  any  cliff  along  the  shore  it  would  be  possible  to 
see  the  steamer  some  hours  before  its  arrival. 

She  had  accumulated  religious  force  enough  to  do  an 
act  of  supererogation.  The  act  was  this — to  go  to  some 
point  of  land  and  watch  for  the  ship  that  brought  her  future 
husband  home. 

It  was  a  cloudy  afternoon.  Elfride  was  often  diverted 
from  a  purpose  by  a  dull  sky  ;  and  though  she  used  to  per- 
suade herself  that  the  weather  was  as  fine  as  possible  on 
the  other  side  of  the  clouds,  she  could  not  bring  about  any 
practical  result  from  this  fanc}'.  Now  her  mood  was  such 
that  the  humid  sky  harmonized. 

Having  ascended  and  passed  over  a  hill  behind  the 
house,  Elfride  came  to  a  small  stream.  She  used  it  as  a 
guide  to  the  coast.  It  was  smaller  than  that  in  her  own 
valley,  and  flowed  altogether  at  a  higher  level.  Furze- 
bushes  lined  the  slopes  of  its  shallow  basin  ;  but  at  the 
bottom,  where  the  water  flowed,  was  a  soft  green  carpet,  in 
a  strip  two  or  three  yards  wide. 

In  winter,  the  water  flowed  over  the  grass  ;  in  summer, 
as  now,  it  trickled  along   a  channel  in  the  midst. 

Elfride  had  a  sensation  of  eyes  regarding  her  from 
somewhere.  She  turned,  and  there  was  Mr.  Knight.  He 
had  dropped  into  the  valley  from  the  side  of  the  hill.  She 
feit  a  thrill  of  pleasure,  and  rebelliously  allowed  it  to  exist. 

"  What  utter  loneliness  to  find  you  in  1 " 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 


209 


*  T  am  going  to  the  shore  by  tracking  the  stream.  I 
believe  it  empties  itself  not  far  off,  in  a  silver  thread  of 
Water,  over  a  cascade  of  great  height." 

"  Why  do  you  load  yourself  with  that  heavy  telescope?  " 

"To  look  over  the  sea  with  it,"  she  said  faintly. 

"  I"ll  carry  it  for  you  to  your  journey's  end."  And  he 
took  the  glass  from  her  unresisting  hands.  "  It  cannot  be 
half  a  mile  farther.  See,  there  is  the  water."  He  pointed 
to  a  short  fragment  of  level  muddy-grey  color,  cutting 
against  the  sky. 

Elfride  had  already  scanned  the  small  surface  of  ocean 
visible,  and  had  seen  no  ship. 

They  walked  along  in  company,  sometimes  with  the 
brook  between  them — for  it  was  no  wider  than  a  man's 
stride — sometimes  close  together.  The  green  carpet  grew 
swampy,  and  they  kept  higher  up. 

One  of  the  two  ridges  between  which  they  walked  dwin- 
dled lower  and  became  insignificant.  That  on  the  right 
hand  rose  with  their  advance,  and  terminated  in  a  clearly- 
defined  edge  against  the  light,  as  if  it  were  abruptly  sawn 
off.  A  little  farther,  and  the  bed  of  the  rivulet  ended  in  the 
.same  fashion. 

They  had  come  to  a  bank  breast-high,  and  over  it  the 
valley  was  no  longer  to  be  seen.  It  was  withdrawn,  cleanly 
and  completely.  In  its  place  was  sky  and  boundless  atmos- 
phere ;  and  perpendicularly  down  beneath  them — small 
and  far  off — lay  the  corrugated  surface  of  the  Atlantic. 

The  small  stream  here  found  its  death.  Running  over 
the  precipice  it  was  dispersed  in  spray  before  it  was  half 
way  down,  and  falling  like  rain  upon  projecting  ledges, 
made  minute  grassy  meadows  of  them.  Lower  down  it 
s^nked  away  amid  the  dobris  of  the  cliff. 

This  was  the  inglorious  end  of  the  river. 

"  What  are  you  looking  for  ? "  said  Knight,  following  the 
direction  of  her  eyes. 

She  was  gazing  hard  at  a  black  object — nearer  to  the 
shore  than  to  the  horizon — from  the  summit  of  which  came 
a  nebulous  haze,  stretching  hke  gauze  over  the  sea. 

"The  Puffin  steamboat — from  Bristol  to  Stranton,"  she 
said.  "I  think  that  is  it — look.  Will  you  give  me  the 
glass?" 


210  A  P^^R  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

Knight  pulled  open  the  old-fashioned  but  powerful  tele- 
scope and  handed  it  to  Elfride,  who  had  looked  on  with 
heavy  eyes. 

"  I  can't  keep  it  up,  now,"  she  said. 

"  Rest  it  on  my  shoulder." 

"  It  is  too  high." 

*'  Under  my  arm." 

"Too  low.  You  may  look  instead,"  she  murmured 
weakly. 

Knight  raised  the  glass  to  his  eye,  and  swept  the  sea  till 
the  Puffin  entered  its  field. 

*'  Yes,  it  is  the  Puffin.  I  can  see  her  figure-head  dis- 
tinctly— a  bird  with  a  beak  as  big  as  its  head." 

"  Can  you  see  the  deck  ? " 

"Wait  a  minute  ;  yes,  pretty  clearly.  And  I  can  see 
the  black  forms  of  the  passengers  against  its  white  surface. 
One  ot  them  has  taken  something  from  another — a  glass, 
I  think — yes,  it  is — and  he  is  levelling  it  in  this  direction. 
Depend  upon  it  we  are  conspicuous  objects  against  the  sky 
to  them.  Now  it  seems  to  rain  upon  them,  and  they  put 
on  overcoats  and  open  umbrellas.  They  vanish  and  go 
below  —all  but  that  one  who  has  borrowed  the  glass.  He 
is  a  slim  young  fellow,  and  still  watches  us." 

Elfride  grew  pale,  and  shifted  her  little  feet  uneasily. 

Knight  lowered  the  glass. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  return,"  he  said.  "  That  cloud 
which  is  raining  on  them  may  soon  reach  us.  Why,  you 
look  ill.     How  is  that  ?  " 

"  Something  in  the  air  affects  my  face." 

"  Those  fair  cheeks  are  very  fastidious,  I  fear,"  returned 
Knight  tenderly.  "  This  air  would  make  those  rosy  that 
were  never  so  before,  one  would  think — eh,  Nature's  spoilt 
child  ? " 

Elfride's  color  returned  again. 

"There  is  more  to  see  behind  us,  after  all,"  said  Knight. 

She  turned  her  back  upon  the  boat  and  Stephen  Smith, 
and  saw,  towering  still  higher  than  themselves,  the  vertical 
face  of  the  hill  on  the  right,  which  did  not  project  seaward 
so  far  as  the  bed  of  the  valley,  but  formed  the  back  of  a 
small  cove,  and  so  was  visible  like  a  concave  wall,  bending 
round  from  their  position  towards  the  left. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  211 

The  composition  of  the  huge  hill  was  revealed  to  its 
backbone  and  marrow  here  at  its  rent  extremity.  It  con- 
sisted of  a  vast  stratification  of  blackish-grey  slate,  unva- 
ried in  its  whole  height  by  a  single  change  of  shade. 

It  is  with  cliffs  and  mountains  as  with  persons  ;  they 
have  what  is  called  a  presence,  which  is  not  proportionate 
to  their  actual  bulk.  A  little  cliff  will  impress  you  powerfully : 
a  great  one  not  at  all.  It  depends,  as  with  man,  upon  the 
countenance  of  the  cliff. 

*•  I  cannot  bear  to  look  at  that  cliff/'  said  Elfride.  "  It  has 
a  horrid  personality,  and  makes  me  shudder.     We  will  go." 

"  Can  you  climb  ?  "  said  Knight.  "  If  so,  we  will  ascend 
by  that  path  over  the  grim  old  fellow's  brow." 

"Try  me,"  said  Elfride  disdainfully.  "I  have  ascend- 
ed steeper  slopes  than  that." 

From  where  they  had  been  loitering,  a  grassy  path 
wound  along  inside  a  bank,  placed  as  a  safeguard  for  un- 
wary pedestrians,  to  the  top  of  the  precipice,  and  over  it 
along  the  hill  in  an  inland  direction. 

"  Take  my  arm,  Miss  Swancourt,"  said  Knight. 

"  I  can  get  on  better  without  it,  thank  you." 

When  they  were  one  quarter  of  the  way  up,  Elfride 
stopped  to  take  breath.     Knight  stretched  out  his  hand. 

She  took  it,  and  they  ascended  the  remaining  slope  to- 
gether. Reaching  the  very  top,  they  sat  down  to  rest  by 
mutual  consent. 

"  Heavens,  what  an  altitude  ! "  said  Knight,  between 
his  pantings,  and  looking  far  over  the  sea.  The  cascade  at 
the  bottom  of  the  slope  appeared  a  mere  span  in  height 
from  where  they  were  now. 

Elfride  was  looking  to  the  left.  The  steamboat  was  in 
full  view  again  now,  and  by  reason  of  the  vast  surface  of  sea 
their  higher  position  uncovered,  it  seemed  almost  close  to 
the  shore. 

"  Over  that  edge,"  said  Knight,  "  where  nothing  but 
vacancy  appears,  is  a  moving  compact  mass.  The  wind 
strikes  the  face  of  the  rock,  runs  up  it,  rises  like  a  fountain 
to  far  above  our  heads,  curls  over  us  in  an  arch,  and  dis- 
perses behind  us.  In  fact,  an  inverted  cascade  is  there — ■ 
as  perfect  as  the  Niagara  Falls — but  rising  instead  of  fall' 
ing,  and  air  instead  of  water.     Now  look  here." 


212  ^   PA^^  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

Knight  threw  a  stone  over  the  bank,  aiming  it  as  to  go 
onward  over  the  cliff.  Reaching  the  verge,  it  towered  mto 
the  air  like  a  bird,  turned  back,  and  alighted  on  the  ground 
behind  them.  They  themselves  were  in  a  dead  calm. 
-  "  A  boat  crosses  Niagara  immediately  at  the  foot  of 
the  falls,  where  the  water  is  quite  still,  the  fallen  mass  curv- 
ing under  it.  We  are  in  precisely  the  same  position  with 
regard  to  our  atmospheric  cataract  here.  If  you  run  back 
from  the  cliff  fifty  yards,  you  will  be  in  a  brisk  wind.  Now 
I  dare  say  over  the  bank  is  a  little  backward  current." 

Knight  arose  and  leaned  over  the  bank.  No  sooner  was 
his  head  above  it  than  his  hat  appeared  to  be  sucked  from 
his  head — slipping  over  his  forehead  in  a  seaward  direction." 

"  That's  the  backward  eddy,  as  I  told  you,"  he  cried, 
and  vanished  over  the  little  bank  after  his  hat. 

Elfride  waited  one  minute ;  he  did  not  return.  She 
waited  another,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  him. 

A  few  drops  of  rain  fell ;  then  a  sudden  shower. 

She  arose,  and  looked  over  the  bank.  On  the  other  side 
were  two  or  three  yards  of  level  ground — then  the  verge  of 
the  precipice. 

On  the  slope  was  Knight,  his  hat  on  his  head.  He  was 
on  his  hands  and  knees,  trying  to  climb  back  to  the  level 
ground.  The  rain  had  wetted  the  shaly  surface  of  the  in- 
cline. A  slight  superficial  wetting  of  soil  of  any  kind 
makes  it  far  more  slippery  to  stand  on  than  the  same  soil 
thoroughly  drenched.  The  inner  substance  is  still  hard, 
and  is  lubricated  by  the  moistened  film. 

"  I  find  a  difficulty  in  getting  back,"  said  Knight. 

Elfride's  heart  fell  like  lead.  "  But  you  can  get  back  ?" 
she  wildly  inquired. 

Knight  strove  with  all  his  might  for  two  or  three 
minutes,  and  the  drops  of  perspiration  began  to  bead  his 
brow. 

"  No,  I  am  unable  to  do  it,"  he  answered. 

Elfride,  by  a  wrench  of  thought,  forced  away  from  her 
mind  the  sensation  that  Knight  was  in  bodily  danger.  But 
attempt  to  help  him  she  must.-  She  ventured  upon  the 
treacherous  incline,  propped  herself  with  the  closed  tele- 
scope, and  gave  him  her  hand  before  he  saw  her  move 
ments.  -  « 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


213 


'*0,  Elfride,  why  did  you  I  "  said  he.  "  I  am  afraid  you 
h  v*.  only  endangered  yourself." 

And  as  if  to  prove  his  statement,  in  making  an  endeavor 
by  rirr  assistance  they  both  slipped  lower,  and  then  he  was 
ag»in  stayed.  His  foot  was  propped  by  a  bracket  of  quartz 
rock,  balanced  on  the  verge  of  the  precipice.  Fixed  by 
this,  he  steadied  her,  her  head  being  about  a  foot  below  the 
beginnin,?;  of  the  slope.  Elfride  had  dropped  the  glass  ;  it 
rolled  to  the  edge  and  vanished  over  it  into  a  nether  sky. 

*'  Hold  tightly  to  me,"  he  said. 

She  f!ung  her  arms  round  his  neck  with  such  a  firm 
grasp  that  while  he  remained  it  was  impossible  for  her  to 
fall. 

"  Don't  be  flurried,"  Knight  continued.  "  So  long  as 
we  stay  above  this  block  we  are  perfectly  safe.  Wait  a 
moment  while  I  consider  what  we  had  better  do." 

He  turned  his  eyes  to  the  dizzy  depths  beneath  them, 
and  surveyed  the  position  of  affairs. 

Two  glances  told  him  a  tale  with  ghastly  distinctness. 
It  was  that,  unless  they  performed  their  feat  of  getting  up 
the  slope  wiji  the  precision  of  machines,  they  were  over  the 
edge  and  whirling  in  mid-air. 

For  this  purpose  it  was  necessary  that  he  should  recover 
the  breath  and  strength  which  his  previous  efforts  had  cost 
him.  So  he  still  waited,  and  looked  in  the  face  of  the 
enemy. 

The  crest  of  this  terrible  natural  fayade  passed  among 
the  neighboring  inhabitants  as  being  seven  hundred  feet 
above  the  water  it  overhung.  It  had  been  proved  by  actual 
measurement  to  be  not  a  foot  less  than  six  hundred  and 
fifty. 

That  is  to  say,  it  is  nearly  three  times  the  height  of 
Flamborough,  half  as  high  again  as  the  South  Foreland,  a 
hundred  feet  higher  than  Beachy  Head — the  loftiest  prom- 
ontory on  the  east  or  south  side  of  this  island,  twice  the 
height  of  St  Alban's,  thrice  as  high  as  the  Lizard,  and  just 
double  the  height  of  St.  Bee's.  One  seaboard  point  on  the 
western  coast  is  known  to  surpass  it  in  altitude,  but  only  by 
a  few  feet.  This  is  Great  Orme's  Head  in  Caernarvon- 
shin* 

nd  it  must  be  remembered  that  this  cliff  exhibits  an 


214 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


intensifying  feature  which  some  of  those  are  without — sheei 
perpendicularity  from  the  half-tide  level. 

Yet  this  remarkable  rampart  forms  no  headland  :  it 
rather  walls  in  an  inlet — the  promontory  on  each  side  being 
much  lower.  Thus,  far  from  being  salient,  its  horizontal 
section  is  concave.  The  sea,  rolling  direct  from  the  shores 
of  North  America,  has  in  fact  eaten  a  chasm  into  the  middle 
of  a  hill,  and  the  giant,  embayed  and  unobtrusive,  stands  in 
the  rear  of  pigmy  supporters.  Not  least  singularly,  neither 
hill,  chasm,  nor  precipice  has  a  name,  or  the  merest  tradi- 
tion of  a  name.  On  this  account  we  will  call  the  precipice 
the  Cliff  without  a  Name. 

What  gave  an  added  terror  to  its  height  was  its  blackness. 
And  upon  this  dark  face  the  beating  of  ten  thousand  west 
winds  had  formed  a  kind  of  bloom,  which  had  a  visual 
effect  not  unlike  that  of  a  black  Hamburg  grape.  Moreover 
it  seemed  to  float  off  into  the  atmosphere,  and  inspire  ter- 
ror through  the  lungs. 

"  This  piece  of  quartz,  supporting  my  feet,  is  on  the  very 
nose  of  the  cliff,"  said  Knight,  breaking  the  silence  after  his 
rigid  stoical  meditation.  '*  Now  what  you  are  to  do  is  this. 
Clamber  up  my  body  till  your  feet  are  on  my  shoulders : 
when  you  are  there  you  will,  I  think,  be  able  to  climb  on  to 
level  ground." 

"What  will  you  do.?" 

"Wait  while  you  run  for  assistance." 

"  I  ought  to  have  done  that  in  the  first  place,  ought  I 
not?" 

*'  I  was  in  the  act  of  slipping,  and  should  have  reached  no 
standing  point  without  your  weight,  in  all  probability.  But 
don't  let  us  talk.     Be  brave,  Elfride,  and  climb." 

She  prepared  to  ascend,  saying,  "  This  is  the  moment  I 
anticipated  when  on  the  tower.     I  thought  it  would  come." 

"This  is  not  a  time  for  superstition,"  said  Knight.  "  Dis- 
miss all  that." 

"  I  will,"  she  said  humbly. 

"Now  put  your  foot  into  my  hand:  next  the  other. 
That's  good — well  done.     Now  to  my  shoulder." 

She  placed  her  feet  upon  a  stirrup  he  made  of  his  hands, 
and  was  high  enough  to  get  a  view  of  the  natural  surface  of 
the  hill  over  the  bank. 


A  FAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES.  2 1  $ 

"  Can  you  now  clirnb  on  to  level  ground  ?  ** 

"  I  am  afraid  not.     1  will  try." 

"  What  can  you  see .?  '* 

"  The  sloping  common.'' 

«  What  upon  it  ? "  | 

"  Purple  heather  and  some  grass. 

"  Nothing  more — no  man  or  human  being  of  any  kind  ?'* 

"Nobody." 

"  Now  try  to  get  higher  in  this  way.  You  see  that  tuft  of 
sea-pink  above  you.  Get  that  well  into  your  hand,  but 
don't  trust  to  it  entirely.  Then  step  upon  my  shoulder,  and 
1  think  you  will  reach  the  top." 

With  trembling  knees  she  did  exactly  as  he  told  her. 
The  preternatural  quiet  and  solemnity  of  his  manner  over- 
spread upon  herself,  and  gave  her  a  courage  not  her  own. 
She  made  a  spring  from  the  top  of  his  shoulder,  and  was 
up. 

Then  she  turned  to  look  at  him. 

By  an  ill-fate,  the  force  downwards  of  her  bound,  added 
to  his  own  weight,  had  been  too  much  for  the  block  of  quartz 
upon  which  his  feet  depended.  It  was,  indeed,  an  igneous 
protrusion  into  the  enormous  mass  of  black  strata,  which 
had  been  denuded  from  the  sides  of  the  alien  fragments  by 
centuries  of  frost  and  rain,  and  now  left  it  without  much 
support. 

It  moved.  Knight  seized  a  tuft  of  sea-pink  with  each 
hand. 

The  quartz  rock  which  had  been  his  salvation  was  worse 
than  useless  now.  It  rolled  over  out  of  sight,  and  away 
into  the  same  nether  sky  that  had  ingulfed  the  telescope. 

One  of  the  tufts  by  which  he  held  came  out  at  the  root, 
and  Knight  began  to  follow  the  quartz.  It  was  a  terrible 
moment.  Elfride  uttered  a  low  wild  wail  of  agony,  bowed 
her  head  and  covered  her  face   with  her  hands. 

Between  the  turf-covered  slope  and  the  gigantic  vertical 
rock  was  an  intervening  weather-worn  series  of  jagged  edges, 
forming  a  face  yet  steeper  than  the  former  slope.  As  he 
slowly  slid  inch  by  inch  upon  these,  Knight  made  a  last  des- 
perate dash  at  the  lowest  tuft  of  vegetation — the  last  outly- 
ing knot  of  starved  herbage  ere  the  rock  appeared  in  all  its 
bareness.     It  arrested   his  farther   descent.     Knight  was 


2i6  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

now  literally  suspended  by  his  arras ;  but  the  incline  of  the 
brow  was  what  engineers  would  call  about  a  quarter  in  one, 
which  was  sufficient  to  relieve  his  arms  of  a  portion  of  his 
weight,  but  was  very  far  from  offering  a  sufficiently  flat  face 
to  support  him. 

In  spite  of  this  dreadful  tension  of  body  and  mind 
Knight  found  time  for  a  moment  of  thankfulness.  Elfride 
was  safe. 

She  lay  on  her  side  above  him — her  fingers  clasped. 
Seeing  him  again  steady,  she  jumped  upon  her  feet. 

"  Now,  if  I  can  only  save  you  by  running  for  help  !  "  she 
cried.  "O,  I  would  have  died  instead  !  Why  did  you  try 
so  hard  to  deliver  me  ? "  And  she  turned  away  wildly  to  run 
for  assistance. 

*'  Elfride,  how  long  will  it  take  you  to  run  to  Endelstow 
and  back  ? " 

"  Three-quarters  of  an  hour." 

"  That  won't  do  j  my  hands  will  not  hold  out  ten  min- 
utes.    And  is  there  nobody  nearer  ?  " 

"  No  ;  unless  a  chance  passer  may  happen  to  be." 

"  He  would  have  nothing  with  him  that  could  save  me. 
Is  there  a  pole  or  stick  of  any  kind  on  the  common  ?" 

She  gazed  around.  The  common  was  bare  of  every- 
thing but  heather  and  grass. 

A  minute — perhaps  more  time — was  passed  in  mute 
thought  by  both.  On  a  sudden  the  blank  and  helpless  agony 
left  her  face.     She  vanished  over  the  bank  from  his  sight 

Knight  felt  himself  alone  in  a  terrible  loneliness 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

"  LOVE  WILL  FIND  OUT  THE  WAY.** 

HAGGARD  cliffs,  of  every  ugly  altitude,  are  as  ccra- 
mon  as  sea- fowl  along  the  line  of  coast  between  Ex- 
moor  and  Land's  End  ;  but  this  outflanked  and  encompass- 
ed specimen  was  the  ugliest  of  them  all.  Their  summits 
are  not  safe  places  for  scientific  experiment  on  the  princi- 
ples of  air-currents,  as  Knight  had  now  found,  to  his  dis- 
may. 

He  still  clutched  the  face  of  the  escarpment — not  with 
the  frenzied  hold  of  despair,  but  with  a  dogged  determina- 
tion to  make  the  most  of  his  every  jot  of  endurance,  and  so 
give  the  longest  possible  scope  to  Elfride's  intentions,  what- 
ever they  might  be. 

He  reclined  hand  in  hand  with  the  world  in  its  infancy. 
Not  a  blade,  not  an  insect,  which  spoke  of  the  present,  was 
between  him  and  the  past.  The  inveterate  antagonism  of 
these  black  precipices  to  all  the  strugglers  for  life  is  in  no 
way  more  forcibly  suggested  than  by  the  absence  of  the  min- 
utest tufts  of  grass,  lichens,  or  confervas  from  their  fronts 
and  ledges. 

Knight  pondered  on  the  meaning  of  Elfride's  hasty  dis- 
appearance, but  could  not  avoid  an  instinctive  conclusion 
that  there  existed  but  a  doubtful  hope  for  him.  As  far  as 
he  could  judge,  his  sole  chance  of  deliverance  lay  in  the 
possibility  of  a  rope  or  pole  being  brought ;  and  this  possi- 
bility was  remote  indeed.  The  soil  upon  these  high  downs 
was  left  so  untended  that  they  were  unenclosed  for  miles, 
except  by  a  casual  bank  or  dry  wall,  and  were  rarely  visited 
but  for  the  purpose  of  collecting  or  counting  the  flock 
which  found  a  scanty  means  of  subsistence  thereon. 

At  first,  when  death  appeared  improbable,  because  it 
had  never  visited  him  before,  Knight  could  think  of  no  fu- 
lo 


2i8  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

ture,  nor  of  anything  connected  with  his  past.  He  could 
only  look  sternly  at  Nature's  treacherous  attempt  to  put  an 
end  to  him,  and  strive  to  thwart  her. 

From  the  fact  that  the  cliff  formed  the  inner  face  of  the 
segment  of  a  huge  cylinder,  having  the  sky  fot  a  top 
and  the  sea  for  a  bottom,  which  enclosed  the  cove  ro  the 
extent  of  more  than  a  semicircle,  he  could  see  the  vertical 
face  curving  round  on  each  side  of  him.  He  looked  far 
down  the  fayade,  and  realized  more  thoroughly  how  it 
threatened  him.  Griraness  was  in  every  feature,  and  to  its 
very  bowels  the  inimical  shape  was  desolation. 

By  one  of  those  familiar  conjunctions  in  which  the  inani- 
mate world  baits  the  mind  of  man  when  he  pauses  in  mo- 
ments of  suspense,  opposite  Knight's  eyes  was  an  imbedded 
fossil,  standing  forth  in  low  relief  from  the  rock.  It  was  a 
creature  with  eyes.  The  eyes,  dead  and  turned  to  stone, 
were  even  now  regarding  him.  It  was  one  of  the  early 
crustaceans  called  Trilobites.  Separated  by  millions  of 
years  in  their  lives,  Knight  and  this  underling  seemed  to 
have  met  in  their  death.  It  was  the  single  instance  within 
reach  of  his  vision  of  anything  that  had  ever  been  alive  and 
had  had  a  body  to  save,  as  he  himself  had  now. 

This  creature  represented  but  a  low  type  of  animal  ex- 
istence, for  never  in  their  vernal  years  had  the  plains  indi- 
cated by  those  numberless  slaty  layers  been  traversed  by 
an  intelligence  worthy  of  the  name.  Zoophytes,  rnollusca, 
shell-fish,  were  the  highest  developments  of  those  ancient 
dates.  The  immense  lapses  of  time  each  formation  repre- 
sented had  known  nothing  of  the  dignity  of  man.  They 
were  grand  times,  but  they  were  mean  times  too,  and  mean 
were  their  relics.  He  was  to  be  with  the  small  in  his 
death. 

Knight  was  a  geologist ;  and  such  is  the  supremacy  of 
habit  over  occasion,  as  a  pioneer  of  the  thoughts  of  men^ 
that  at  this  dreadful  juncture  his  mind  found  time  to  take 
in,  by  a  momentary  sweep,  the  varied  scenes  that  had  had 
their  day  between  this  creature's  epoch  and  his  own.  There 
is  no  place  like  a  cleft  landscape  for  bringing  home  such 
imaginings  as  these. 

Time  closed  up  like  a  fan  before  him.  He  saw  himself 
at  one  extremity  of  the  years,  face  to  face  with  the  begin- 


A  PAIR  OF  BLU^  EYES.  2IO 

nmg  and  all  the  intermediate  centuries  rJmultaneousIy. 
Fierce  men,  clothed  in  the  hides  of  beasts,  and  carrying, 
for  defence  and  attack,  huge  clubs  and  pointed  spears,  rose 
from  the  rock,  like  the  phantoms  before  the  doomed  Mac- 
beth. They  lived  in  hollows,  woods,  and  mud  huts — per- 
haps in  caves  of  the  neighboring  rocks.  Behind  them  stood 
an  earlier  band.  No  man  was  there.  Huge  elephantine 
forms-,  the  mastodon,  the  hippopotamus,  the  tapir,  anteJopes 
of  monstrous  size,  the  megatherium,  and  the  mylodou — all, 
for  the  moment,  in  juxtaposition.  Farther  back,  and  over- 
lapped by  these,  were  perched  huge-billed  birds  and  swinish 
creatures  as  large  as  horses.  Still  more  shadowy  were  the 
sinister  crocodilian  outlines — alligators  and  other  horrible 
reptiles,  culminating  in  the  colossal  lizard,  the  iguanodon. 
Folded  behind  were  dragon  forms  and  clouds  of  flying  rep- 
tiles :  still  underneath  were  fishy  beings  of  lower  develop- 
ment ;  and  so  on,  till  the  life-time  scenes  of  the  fossil  con- 
fronting him  were  a  present  and  modern  condition  of  things. 

These  images  passed  before  Knight's  inner  eye  in  less 
than  half  a  minute,  and  he  was  again  considering  the  actual 
present.  Was  he  to  die  ?  The  mental  picture  of  Elfride 
in  the  world,  without  himself  to  cherish  her,  smote  his  heart 
like  a  whip.  He  had  hoped  for  deliverance,  but  what  could 
a  girl  do  ?  He  dared  not  move  an  inch.  Was  Death  really 
stretching  out  his  hand  ?  The  previous  sensation  that  it 
was  improbable  he  would  die,  was  fainter  now. 

However,  Knight  still  clung  to  the  cliff. 

To  those  hardy  weather-beaten  individuals  who  pass  the 
greater  part  of  their  days  and  nights  out-of-doors,  Nature 
seems  to  have  moods  in  other  than  a  poetical  sense  :  moods 
literally  and  really — predilections  for  certain  deeds  at  cer- 
tain times,  without  any  apparent  law  to  govern  or  season  to 
account  for  them.  They  read  her  as  a  person  with  a  curi- 
ous temper.  Thus  :  she  does  not  scatter  kindnessess  and 
cruelties  alternately,  impartially,  or  in  order — shining  on 
them  one  day,  raining  on  them  the  next — but  heartless  sever- 
ities or  overwhelming  kindnesses  in  lawless  caprice.  Their 
case  is  always  that  of  the  prodigal's  favorite  or  the  miser's 
pensioner.  In  her  unfriendly  moments  there  seems  a  cruel 
fun  in  her  tricks — a  feline  playfulness  begotten  by  an  antici* 
pated  pleasure  in  swallowing  the  victim. 


220  ^  P^^^  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

This  way  of  thinking  had  been  foreign  to  Knight,  but 
he  began  to  adopt  it  now.  He  was  first  spitted  on  a 
rock.  New  tortures  followed  after  a  while.  The  rain  in- 
creased, and  persecuted  him  with  exceptional  persistency, 
the  reason  of  which  he  was  moved  to  believe  to  be  because 
he  was  in  such  a  wretched  state  already.  An  entirely  new 
order  of  things  had  been  observed  in  this  introduction  of 
rain  upon  the  scene.  It  rained  upwards  instead  of  down. 
The  strong  ascending  current  of  air  carried  the  rain  drops 
with  it  in  its  race  up  the  escarpment,  coming  to  him  with 
such  velocity  that  they  stuck  into  his  flesh  like  cold  needles. 
Each  drop  was  virtually  a  shaft,  and  it  pierced  him  to  his 
skin.  These  water-shafts  seemed  to  lift  him  on  their  points : 
no  downward  rain  ever  had  such  a  torturing  effect.  In  a 
brief  space  he  was  drenched,  except  in  two  places.  These 
were  on  the  top  of  his  shoulders  and  on  the  crown  of  his 
hat. 

The  wind,  though  not  intense  in  other  situations,  was 
strong  here.  It  tugged  at  his  coat,  and  lifted  it.  We  are 
mostly  accustomed  to  look  upon  all  opposition  which  is  not 
animate,  as  that  of  the  stolid,  inexorable  hand  of  indiffer- 
ence, which  wears  out  the  patience  more  than  the  strength. 
Here,  at  any  rate,  hostility  did  not  assume  that  slow  sick- 
ening form.  It  was  a  cosmic  agency,  active,  lashing,  eager 
for  conquest ;  determination ;  not  an  insensate  standing  in 
the  way. 

Knight  had  over-estimated  the  strength  of  his  hands. 
They  were  getting  weak  already.  "  She  will  never  come 
again  ;  she  has  been  gone  ten  minutes,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. 

This  mistake  arose  from  the  unusual  compression  of  his 
experiences  just  now :  she  had  really  been  gone  but 
three. 

"  As  many  more  minutes  will  be  my  end,"  he  thought. 

Next  came  another  instance  of  the  incapacity  of  the 
mind  to  make  comparisons  at  such  times. 

"  This  is  a  summer  afternoon,"  he  said,  "  and  there  can 
never  have  been  such  a  heavy  and  cold  rain  on  a  summer 
day  in  my  life  before." 

He  was  again  mistaken.  The  rain  was  quite  ordinary 
in  quantity  j  the  air  in  temperature.     It  was  the  menacing 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  221 

attitude  in  which  they  approached  him  that  magnified  their 
powers. 

He  again  looked  straight  downwards,  the  wind  and  the 
water-dashes  lifting  his  moustache,  scudding  up  his  cheeks, 
under  his  eyelids,  and  into  his  eyes.  This  is  what  he  saw 
down  there :  the  surface  of  the  sea — visually  just  past  his 
toes,  and  under  his  feet ;  actually  one-eighth  of  a  mile,  oi 
more  than  two  hundred  yards,  below  them.  We  color  ac- 
cording to  our  moods  the  objects  we  survey.  The  sea 
would  have  been  a  deep  neutral  blue,  iiad  happier  auspices 
attended  the  gazer :  it  was  now  no  otherwise  than  distinctly 
black  to  his  vision.  That  narrow  white  border  was  foam,  he 
knew  well ;  but  its  boisterous  tosses  were  so  distant  as  to 
appear  a  pulsation  only,  and  its  plashing  was  barely  audible. 
A  white  border  to  a  black  sea — his  funeral  pall  and  its 
edging. 

The  world  was  to  some  extent  turned  upside  down  for 
him.  Rain  ascended  from  below.  Beneath  his  feet  was 
aerial  space  and  the  unknown  ;  above  him  was  the  firm  fa- 
miliar ground,  and  upon  it  all  that  he  loved  best. 

Pitiless  nature  had  then  two  voices,  and  two  only.  The 
nearest  was  the  voice  of  the  wind  in  his  ears,  rising  and  fall- 
ing as  it  mauled  and  thrust  him  hard  or  softly.  The  sec- 
ond and  distant  one  was  the  moan  of  that  fathomless  ocean 
below  and  afar — rubbing  its  restless  flank  against  the  Cliff 
without  a  Name. 

Knight  perseveringly  held  on.  Had  he  any  faith  in 
Elfride  ?  Perhaps.  Love  is  faith,  and  faith,  like  a  gathered 
flower,  will  live  on  a  long  time  after  nutriment  has  ceased. 

Nobody  would  have  expected  the  sun  to  shine  on  such 
an  evening  as  this.  Yet  it  appeared,  low  down  upon  the 
sea.  Not  with  its  natural  golden  fringe,  sweeping  the 
farthest  ends  of  the  landscape,  not  with  the  strange  glare 
of  whiteness  which  it  sometimes  puts  on  as  an  alternative 
with  color,  but  as  a  splotch  of  vermilion  red  upon  a  leaden 
ground — a  red  face  looking  on  with  a  drunken  leer. 

Most  men  who  have  brains  knov/  it,  and  few  are  so  fool- 
ish as  to  disguise  this  fact  from  themselves  or  others,  even 
though  an  ostentatious  display  may  be  called  self-conceit. 
Knight,  without  showing  it  much,  knew  that  his  intellect 
was  above  the  average.     And  he   thought — he  could  not 


222  ^  PA^R  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

help  thinking — that  his  death  would  be  a  deliberate  loss  to 
earth  of  good  material ;  that  such  an  experiment  in  killing 
might  have  been  practiced  upon  some  less  developed  life. 

A  fancy  some  people  hold,  when  in  a  bitter  mood,  is 
that  inexorable  circumstance  only  tries  to  prevent  what  in- 
telligence attempts.  Renounce  a  desire  for  a  long-contested 
position,  and  go  on  another  tack,  and  after  a  while  the  prize 
is  thrown  at  you,  seemingly  in  disappointment  that  no  more 
tantalizing  is  possible. 

Knight  gave  up  thoughts  of  life  utterly  and  entirely, 
and  turned  to  contemplate  the  Dark  Valley  and  the  unknown 
future  beyond.  Into  the  solemn  depths  of  these  reflections 
we  will  not  pry.     Let  it  suffice  to  state  what  followed. 

At  that  moment  of  taking  no  more  thought  for  this  life, 
something  disturbed  the  outline  of  the  bank  above  him. 
A  spot  appeared. 

It  was  the  head  of  Elfride. 

Knight  immediately  prepared  to  welcome  life  agam. 

The  expression  of  a  face  consigned  to  utter  loneliness, 
when  a  friend  first  looks  in  upon  it,  is  moving  in  the  extreme. 
In  rowing  seaward  to  a  light-ship  or  sea-girt  light-house, 
where,  without  any  immediate  terror  of  death,  the  inmates 
experience  the  gloom  of  monotonous  seclusion,  the  grateful 
eloquence  of  their  countenances  at  the  greeting,  expressive 
of  thankfulness  for  the  visit,  is  almost  enough  to  stir  the 
emotions  of  the  observer. 

Knight's  upward  look  at  Elfride  was  of  a  nature  with, 
but  far  transcending,  such  an  instance  as  this.  The  lines 
of  his  face  had  deepened  to  furrows,  and  every  one  of  them 
thanked  her  visibly.  His  lips  moved  to  the  word  "  Elfride," 
though  the  motion  evolved  no  sound.  His  eyes  passed  all 
description  in  their  combination  of  the  whole  diapason  of 
eloquence,  from  lover's  deep  love  to  fellow-man's  gratitude 
for  a  token  of  remembrance  from  one  of  his  kind. 

Elfride  had  come  back.  What  she  had  come  to  do  he 
did  not  know.  She  could  only  look  on  at  his  death,  per- 
haps. Still,  she  had  come  back,  and  not  deserted  him  ut- 
terly, and  it  was  enough. 

It  was  a  novelty  in  the  extreme  to  see  Henry  Knight, 
to  whom  Elfride  was  but  a  child,  who  had  swayed  her  as  a 
tree  sways  a  bird's  nest,  who  mastered  her  and  made  her 


A  FAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


223 


weep  most  bitterly  at  her  own  insignificance,  thus  thankful 
for  a  sight  of  her  face.  She  looked  down  upon  him,  her 
face  glistening  with  rain  and  tears.     He  smiled  faintly. 

"  How  calm  he  is  !  "  she  thought.  "  How  great  and 
noble  he  is  to  be  so  calm  ! "  She  would  have  died  ten 
times  for  him  Ihen. 

The  gliding  form  of  the  steamboat  caught  her  eye  :  she 
heeded  it  no  longer. 

"  How  much  longer  can  you  wait  ? "  came  from  her  pale 
lips  and  along  the  wind  to  his  position. 

"  Four  minutes,"  said  Knight,  in  a  weaker  voice  than 
her  own. 

"  But  with  a  ^ood  hope  of  being  saved  ?  '* 

"  Seven  or  eight.'' 

He  now  noticed  that  in  her  arms  she  bore  a  bundle  of 
white  linen,  and  that  her  form  was  unnaturally  attenuated. 
So  preternaturally  thin  and  flexible  was  Elfride  at  this  mo- 
ment, that  she  appeared  to  bend  under  the  light  blows  of 
the  rain-shafts,  as  they  struck  into  her  sides  and  bosom, 
and  splintered  into  spray  on  her  face.  .  There  is  nothing 
like  a  thorough  drenching  for  reducing  the  protuberances 
of  clothes,  but  Elfride's  seemed  to  cHng  to  her  like  a  glove. 

Without  heeding  the  attack  of  the  clouds  farther  than 
by  raising  her  hand  and  wiping  away  the  spirts  of  rain 
when  they  went  more  particularly  into  her  eyes,  she  sat 
down  and  hurriedly  began  rending  the  linen  into  strips. 
These  she  knotted  end  to  end,  and  afterwards  twisted  them 
like  the  strands  of  a  cord.  In  a  short  space  of  time  she 
had  formed  a  perfect  rope  by  this  means,  six  or  seven 
yards  long. 

"  Can  you  wait  while  I  bind  it  ?  "  she  said,  again  anx- 
iously extending  her  gaze  down  to  him. 

"  Yes,  if  not  very  long.  Hope  has  given  me  a  wonder- 
ful instalment  of  strength." 

Elfride  dropped  her  eyes  again,  tore  the  remaining  ma- 
terial into  narrow  tape-like  ligaments,  knotted  each  to  each 
as  before,  but  on  a  smaller  scale,  and  wound  the  lengthy 
string  she  had  thus  formed  round  and  round  the  linen 
rope,  which,  without  this  binding,  had  a  tendency  to  spread 
abroad. 

"  Now,"  said  Knight,  who,  watching  the  proceedings 


224  ^  P^^^^  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

intently,  had  by  this  time  not  only  grasped  her  scheme,  but 
reasoned  farther  on,  "  I  can  hold  three  minutes  longer  yet. 
And  do  you  use  the  time  in  testing  the  strength  of  the 
knots,  one  by  one." 

She  at  once  obeyed,  tested  each  singly  by  putting  her 
foot  on  the  rope  between  each  knot,  and  pulling  with  her 
hands.     One  of  the  knots  slipped. 

"  O,  think  !  It  would  have  broken  but  for  your  fore- 
thought," Elfride  exclaimed  apprehensively. 

She  re-tied  the  two  ends.  The  rope  was  now  firm  in 
every  part. 

"  When  you  have  let  it  down,"  said  Knight,  already 
resuming  his  position  of  ruling  power,  "  go  back  from  the 
edge  of  the  slope,  and  over  the  bank  as  far  as  the  rope 
will  allow  you.  Then  lean  down,  and  hold  the  end  with 
both  hands." 

He  had  first  thought  of  a  safer  plan  for  his  own  deliv- 
erance, but  it  involved  the  disadvantage  of  possibly  endan- 
gering her  life. 

"I  have  tied  it  round  my  waist,"  she  cried;  "and  I 
will  lean  directly  upon  the  bank,  holding  with  my  hands  as 
well." 

It  was  the  arrangement  he  had  thought  of,  but  would 
not  suggest. 

"  I  will  raise  and  drop  it  three  times  when  I  am  behind 
the  bank,"  she  continued,  "to  signify  that  I  am  ready. 
Take  care,  O,  iC^ke  the  greatest  care,  I  beg  you  !  " 

She  dropped  the  rope  over  him,  to  learn  how  much  of 
its  length  it  would  be  necessary  to  expend  on  that  side  of 
the  bank,  went  back,  and  disappeared  as  she  had  done  be- 
fore. 

The  rope  was  trailing  by  Knight's  shoulders.  In  a  few 
moments  it  moved  three  times. 

He  waited  yet  a  second  or  two,  then  laid  hold. 

The  incline  of  this  upper  portion  of  the  precipice,  to 
the  length  only  of  a  few  feet,  useless  to  a  climber  empty- 
handed,  was  invaluable  now.  Not  more  than  half  his 
weight  depended  entirely  on  the  linen  rope.  Half  a  dozen 
extensions  of  the  arms,  alternating  with  half  a  dozen  seiz- 
ures of  the  rope  with  his  feet,  brought  him  up  to  the  level 
of  the  soil. 

\ 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  22t, 

He  was  saved,  and  by  Elfride. 

He  extended  his  cramped  limbs  like  an  awakened 
sleeper,  and  sprang  over  the  bank. 

At  sight  of  him  she  leaped  to  her  feet  with  almost  a 
shriek  of  joy.  Knight's  eyes  met  hers,  and  with  supreme 
eloquence  the  glance  of  each  told  a  long-concealed  tale  of 
emotion  in  that  short  half-moment.  Moved  by  an  impulse 
neither  could  resist,  they  ran  together  and  into  each  other's 
arms. 

At  the  moment  of  embracing,  Elfride's  eyes  involun- 
tarily flashed  towards  the  Puffin  steamboat.  It  had  doub- 
led the  point,  and  was  no  longer  to  be  seen. 

An  overwhelming  rush  of  exultation  at  having  delivered 
the  man  she  revered  from  one  of  the  most  terrible  forms 
of  death,  shook  the  gentle  girl  to  the  centre  of  her  soul. 
It  merged  in  a  defiance  of  duty  to  Stephen,  and  a  total 
recklessness  as  to  plighted  faith.  Every  nerve  of  her  will 
was  now  in  subjection  to  her  feeling — volition  as  a  guiding 
power  had  forsaken  her.  To  remain  passive,  as  she  re- 
mained now,  encircled  by  his  arms,  was  a  sufficiently  com- 
plete result — a  glorious  crown  to  all  the  years  of  her  life. 
Perhaps  he  was  only  grateful,  and  did  not  love  her.  No 
matter  :  it  was  infinitely  more  to  be  even  the  slave  of  the 
greater  than  the  queen  of  the  less.  Some  such  sensation 
as  this,  though  it  was  not  recognized  as  a  finished  thought, 
raced  along  the  impressible  soul  of  Elfride. 

Regarding  their  attitude,  it  was  impossible  for  two  per- 
sons to  go  nearer  to  a  kiss  than  went  Knight  and  Elfride 
during  those  minutes  of  impulsive  embrace  in  the  pelting 
rain.  Yet  they  did  not  kiss.  Knight's  peculiarity  of  na- 
ture was  such  that  it  would  not  allow  him  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  unguarded  and  passionate  avowal  she  had 
tacitly  made. 

Elfride  recovered  herself,  and  gently  struggled  to  be 
free. 

He  reluctantly  relinquished  her,  and  then  surveyed  her 
from  crown  to  toe.  She  seemed  as  small  as  an  infant. 
He  perceived  whence  she  had  obtained  the  rope. 

"  Elfride,  my  Elfride!  "  he  exclaimed  in  gratified  amaze- 
ment. 

"  I   must  leave  you  now,"  she  said,  her  face  burning 


226  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

with  red,  of  an  expression  between  gladness  and  shame. 
"  You  follow  me,  but  at  some  distance." 

"  The  rain  and  wind  pierce  you  through  ;  the  chill 
will  kill  you.  God  bless  you  for  such  devotion  1  Take 
my  coat,  and  put  it  on." 

"  No  ;  I  shall  get  warm  running." 

Elfride  had  absolutely  nothing  between  her  and  the 
weather  but  her  exterior  robe  or  "  costume."  The  door 
had  been  made  upon  a  woman's  wit,  and  it  had  found  its 
way  out.  Behind  the  bank,  while  Knight  reclined  upon 
the  dizzy  slope  waiting  for  death,  she  had  taken  off  her 
whole  clothing,  and  replaced  only  her  outer  robe  and  skirt. 
Every  thread  of  the  remainder  lay  upon  the  ground  in  the 
form  of  a  woolen  and  cotton  rope. 

"  I  am  used  to  being  wet  through,"  she  added.  "  I 
have  been  drenched  on  Pansy  dozens  of  times.  Good-bye 
till  we  meet,  dry  and  in  our  right  mind,  by  the  fireside  at 
home!" 

She  then  ran  off  from  him  through  the  pelting  rain  like 
a  hare ;  or  more  like  a  pheasant  when,  scampering  away 
with  a  lowered  tail,  it  has  a  mind  to  fly,  but  does  not. 
Elfride  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

Knight  felt  uncomfortably  wet  and  chilled,  but  glow- 
ing with  fervor  nevertheless.  He  fully  appreciated  El- 
fride's  girlish  delicacy  in  refusing  his  escort  in  the  meagre 
habiliments  she  wore,  yet  felt  that  necessary  abstraction  of 
herself  for  a  short  half-hour  as  a  most  grievous  loss  to 
him. 

He  gathered  up  the  knotted  and  twisted  mass  of  linen, 
lace,  and  embroidery-work,  and  laid  it  across  his  arm. 
He  noticed  on  the  ground  an  envelope,  limp  and  wet.  In 
endeavoring  to  restore  this  to  its  proper  shape,  he  loosened 
from  the  envelope  a  piece  of  paper  it  had  contained,  which 
was  seized  by  the  wind  in  falling  from  Knight's  hand.  It 
was  blown  to  the  right,  blown  to  the  left — it  floated  to  the 
edge  of  the  cliff  and  over  the  sea,  where  it  was  hurled 
aloft.  It  twirled  in  the  air,  and  then  flew  back  over  his 
head 

Knight  followed  the  paper,  and  secured  it.  Having 
done  so,  he  looked  to  discover  if  it  had  been  worth 
secu-ing. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


227 


The  troublesome  sheet  was  a  banker's  receipt  for  two 
hundred  pounds,  placed  to  the  credit  of  Miss  Swancourt, 
which  the  impractical  girl  had  totally  forgotten  she  car- 
ried with  her. 

Knight  folded  it  as  carefully  as  its  moist  condition 
would  allow  put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  followed  her. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"SHOULD  AULD  ACQUAINTANCE  BE  FORGOT ' " 

BY  this  time  Stephen  Smith  had  stepped  out  upon  the 
quay  at  Stranton,  and  breathed  his  native  air. 

A  darker  skin,  a  more  pronounced  moustache,  and  an 
incipient  beard,  were  the  chief  additions  and  changes 
noticeable  in  his  appearance. 

In  spite  of  the  falling  rain,  which  had  lessened  some- 
what, he  took  a  small  valise  in  his  hand,  and,  leaving  the 
remainder  of  his  luggage  at  the  inn,  ascended  the  hills 
towards  East  Endelstow.  This  place  lay  in  a  vale  of  its 
own,  farther  inland  than  the  west  village,  and  though  so 
near,  it  had  little  of  physical  feature  in  common  with 
the  latter.  East  Endelstow  was  more  wooded  and  fertile  : 
it  boasted  of  Lord  Luxellian's  mansion  and  park,  and  was 
free  from  those  bleak  open  uplands  which  lent  such  an  air 
of  desolation  to  the  vicinage  of  the  coast — always  except- 
ing the  small  valley  in  which  stood  the  vicarage  and  Mrs. 
Swancourt's  old  house,  the  Crags. 

Stephen  had  arrived  nearly  at  the  summit  of  the  ridge, 
when  the  rain  again  increased  its  volume,  and,  looking 
about  for  temporary  shelter,  he  ascended  a  steep  path 
which  penetrated  dense  hazel  bushes  in  the  lower  part  of 
its  course.  Farther  up  it  emerged  upon  a  ledge  immedi- 
ately over  the  turnpike  road,  and  sheltered  by  an  over- 
hanging face  of  rubble  rock,  with  bushes  above.  For  a 
reason  of  his  own  he  made  this  spot  his  refuge  from  the 
storm,  and  turning  his  face  to  the  left,  conned  the  land- 
scape as  a  book. 

He  was  overlooking  the  valley  containing  Elfride's 
residence. 

From  this  point  of  observation  the  prospect  exhibited 
the  peculiarity  of  being  either  brilliant  foreground  or  the 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  23^ 

dark  brown  of  distance,  a  sudden  dip  in  the  surface  of  t^e 
country  lowering  out  of  sight  all  the  intermediate  prospect. 
In  apparent  contact  with  the  trees  and  bushes  growing 
close  beside  him  appeared  the  distant  tract,  terminated 
suddenl}^  by  the  brink  of  the  series  of  cliffs  which  culmi- 
nated in  the  tall  giant  without  a  name — small  and  unim- 
portant as  here  beheld.  A  leaf  on  a  bough  at  Stephen's 
elbow  blotted  out  a  whole  hill  in  the  contrasting  district 
far  away;  a  green  bunch  of  nuts  covered  a  complete  up- 
land there,  and  the  great  cliff  itself  was  outvied  by  a  pigmy 
crag  in  the  bank  hard  by  him.  Stephen  had  looked  upon 
these  things  hundreds  of  times  before  to-day,  but  he  had 
never  viewed  them  with  such  tenderness  as  now. 

Stepping  forward  in  this  direction  yet  a  little  farther, 
he  could  see  the  tower  of  West  Endelstow  church,  beneath 
which  he  was  to  meet  his  Elfride  that  night.  And  at  the 
same  time  he  noticed,  coming  over  the  hill  from  the  cliffs, 
a  white  speck  in  motion.  It  seemed  first  to  be  a  sea-gull 
flying  low,  but  ultimately  proved  to  be  a  human  figure, 
running  with  great  rapidity.  The  form  flitted  on,  heedless 
of  the  rain  which  had  caused  Stephen's  halt  in  this  place, 
dropped  down  the  heathery  hill,  entered  the  vale,  and  was 
out  of  sight. 

While  he  meditated  upon  the  meaning  of  this  phenom- 
enon, he  was  surprised  to  see  swim  into  his  ken  from  the 
same  point  of  departure  another  moving  speck,  as  different 
from  the  first  as  v/ell  could  be,  insomuch  that  it  was  per- 
ceptible only  by  its  blackness.  Slowly  and  regularly  it 
look  the  same  course,  and  there  was  not  much  doubt  that 
this  was  the  form  of  a  man.  He,  too,  gradually  descended 
from  the  upper  levels,  and  was  lost  in  the  valley  below. 

The  rain  had  by  this  time  again  abated,  and  Stephen 
returned  to  the  road.  Looking  ahead  he  saw  two  men 
and  a  cart.  They  were  soon  obscured  by  the  intervention 
of  a  high  hedge.  Just  before  they  em.erged  again  he 
heard  voices  in  conversation. 

'•  'A  must  soon  be  in  the  naiborhood,  too,  if  so  be  he's 
a-coming,"  said  a  tenor  tongue,  which  Stephen  instantly 
recognized  as  Martin  Cannister's. 

"'A  must  'a  b'lieve,'*  said  another  voice — that  of 
Stephen's  father. 


230  ^  P^I^  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

Stephen  stepped  forward,  and  came  before  them  face 
to  face.  His  father  and  Martin  were  walking,  dressed  in 
their  second-best  suits,  and  beside  them  rambled  along  a 
grizzel  horse  and  brightly  painted  spring-cart. 

"  All  right,  Mr.  Cannister  ;  here's  the  lost  man  !  "  ex- 
claimed young  Smith,  entering  at  once  upon  the  old  style 
of  greeting.     "  Father,  here  I  am." 

"  All  right,  my  sonny ;  and  glad  I  be  for't !  "  returned 
John  Smith,  overjoyed  to  see  the  young  man.  "  How  be 
ye  ?  Well,  come  along  home,  and  don't  let's  bide  out  here 
in  the  damp.  Such  weather  must  be  terrible  bad  for  a 
young  chap  just  come  from  a  fiery  nation  like  Indey ;  hey, 
naibor  Cannister  ? " 

"Trew,  trew.  And  about  getting  home  his  traps  I 
Boxes,  monstrous  bales,  and  noble  packages  of  foreign 
description,  I  make  no  doubt  ? " 

"  Hardly  all  that,"  said  Stephen,  laughing. 

"  We  brought  the  cart,maning  to  go  right  on  to  Stranton 
afore  ye  landed,"  said  his  father.  "  '  Put  in  the  horse,'  says 
Martin.  *  Ay,'  says  I,  'so  we  will ;'  and  did  it  straight- 
way. Now,  maybe,  Martin  had  better  go  on  wi'  the  cart 
for  the  things,  and  you  and  I  walk  home-along." 

"  And  I  shall  be  back  a'most  as  soon  as  you.  Peggy's 
a  pretty  step  still,  though  time  d'  begin  to  tell  upon  her  as 
upon  the  rest  o'  us." 

Stephen  told  Martin  where  to  find  his  baggage,  and 
then  continued  his  journey  homeward  in  the  company  of 
his  father. 

"  Owing  to  your  coming  a  day  sooner  than  we  first  ex- 
pected," said  John,  "  you'll  find  us  in  a  turk  of  a  mess, 
sir — '  sir,'  says  I  to  my  own  son  !  but  ye've  gone  up  so, 
Stephen.  We've  killed  the  pig  this  morning  for  ye,  think- 
ing ye'd  be  hungry,  and  glad  of  a  morsel  of  fresh  mate. 
And  'a  won't  be  cut  up  till  to-night.  However,  we  can 
make  ye  a  good  supper  of  fry,  which  will  chaw  up  well  wi 
a  dab  o'  mustard  and  a  few  nice  new  taters,  and  a  drop  of 
sliilling  ale  to  wash  it  down.  Your  mother  have  scrubbed 
the  house  through  because  ye  were  coming,  and  dusted  all 
the  chimmer  furniture,  and  bought  a  new  basin  and  jug  of 
a  travelling  crockery-woman  that  came  to  our  door,  and 
scoured  the  cannelsticks,  and  claned  the  winders  1     Ay,  I 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  23 1 

don*t  know  what  'a  ha'nt  a  done.  Never  wer  such  a  steer, 
'a  b'lieve." 

Conversation  of  this  kind  and  inquiries  of  Stephen  for 
his  mother's  well-being  occupied  them  for  the  remainder  of 
the  journey.  When  they  drew  near  the  river,  and  the  cot- 
tage behind  it,  they  could  hear  the  master-mason's  clock 
striking  off  the  bygone  hours  of  the  day  at  intervals  of  a 
quarter  of  a  minute,  during  which  intervals  Stephen's  im- 
agination readily  pictured  his  mother's  forefinger  wander- 
ing round  the  dial  in  company  with  the  minute-hand. 

"  The  clock  stopped  this  morning,  and  your  mother  is 
putting  en  right  seemingly,"  said  his  father  in  an  explana- 
tory tone  ;  and  they  went  up  the  garden  to  the  door. 

When  they  had  entered,  and  Stephen  had  dutifully  and 
warmly  greeted  his  mother — who  appeared  in  a  cotton  dress 
of  a  dark-blue  ground,  covered  broadcast  with  a  multitude 
of  new  and  full  moons,  stars,  and  planets,  with  an  occa- 
sional dash  of  a  comet-like  aspect,  to  diversify  the  scene — 
the  crackle  of  cart  wheels  was  heard  outside,  and  Martin 
Cannister  stamped  in  at  the  doorway,  in  the  form  of  a  pair 
of  legs  beneath  a  great  box,  his  body  being  nowhere  visi- 
ble. When  the  luggage  had  been  all  taken  down,  and 
Stephen  had  gone  up  stairs  to  change  his  clothes,  Mrs. 
Smith's  mind  seemed  to  recover  a  lost  thread. 

"  Really  our  clock  is  not  worth  a  penny,"  she  said, 
turning  to  it  and  attempting  to  start  the  pendulum. 

"  Stopped  again  ? "  inquired  Martin  with  commisera- 
tion. 

"  Yes,  sure,"  replied  Mrs.  Smith  ;  and  continued  after 
the  manner  of  certain  matrons,  to  whose  tongues  the  har- 
mony of  a  subject  with  a  casual  mood  is  a  greater  recom- 
mendation than  its  pertinence  to  the  occasion.  "John 
would  spend  pounds  a  year  upon  the  jimcrackold  thing,  if 
he  might,  in  having  it  claned,  when  at  the  same  time  you 
may  doctor  it  yourself  as  well.  '  The  clock's  stopped  again, 
John,'  I  say  to  him.  '  Better  have  en  claned,'  says  he. 
There's  five  shillings.  *That  clock  grinds  again,'  I  say  to 
en.  *  Better  have  en  claned,'  'a  says  again.  *  That  clock 
strikes  wrong,  John,'  says  I.  '  Better  have  en  claned,' 
he  goes  on.  The  wheels  would  have  been  polished  to 
skeletons  by  this  time  if  I  had  listened  to  en,  and  I  assure 


232  ^  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

you  we  could  have  bought  a  chainey-faced  beauty  wi'  the 
good  money  we've  flung  away  these  last  ten  years  upon 
this  old  green-faced  mortal.  And,  Martin,  you  must  be 
wet.  My  son  is  gone  up  to  change.  John  is  damper  than 
I  should  like  to  be,  but  'a  calls  it  nothing.  Some  of  Mrs. 
Swancourt's  servants  have  been  here — they  ran  in  out  of 
the  rain  when  going  for  a  walk — and  I  assure  you  the  state 
of  bonnets  was  frightful." 

"  How's  the  folks  ?  We've  been  over  to  Stranton,  and 
what  wi'  running  and  stopping  out  of  the  storms,  my  poor 
head  is  beyond  everything !  fizz,  fizz,  fizz  ]  'tis  frying  o'  fish 
from  morning  to  night,"  said  a  cracked  voice  in  the  door- 
way at  this  instant. 

"  Lord  so's,  who's  that  ? "  said  Mrs.  Smith,  in  a  private 
exclamation,  and  turning  round  saw  William  Worm,  en- 
deavoring to  make  himself  look  passing  civil  and  friendly 
by  overspreading  his  face  with  a  large  smile  that  seemed  to 
have  no  connection  with  the  humor  he  was  in.  Behind 
him  stood  a  woman  about  twice  his  size,  with  a  large  um- 
brella over  her  head.  This  was  Mrs.  Worm,  WiiUam's 
wife. 

"  Come  in,  William,"  said  John  Smith.  "  We  don't 
kill  a  pig  every  day.  And  you  likewise,  Mrs.  Worm.  1 
make  ye  welcome.  Since  ye  left  Parson  Swancourt,  Wil- 
liam, I  don't  see  much  of  ye." 

"  No,  for  to  tell  the  truth,  since  I  took  to  the  turnpike- 
gate  line,  I've  been  out  but  little,  coming  to  church  o'  Sun- 
days not  being  my  duty  now,  as  'twas  in  a  parson's  family, 
you  see.  However,  our  boy  is  able  to  mind  the  gate  now, 
and  I  said,  says  I,  'Barbara,  let's  call  and  see  John 
Smith.' " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  your  head  is  so  bad  still." 

"  Ay,  I  assure  you  that  frying  o'  fish  is  going  on  for 
nights  and  days.  And,  you  know,  sometimes  'tisn't  only 
fish,  but  rashers  o'  bacon  and  inions.  Ay,  I  can  hear  the 
fat  pop  and  fizz  as  nateral  as  life  ;  can't  I,  Barbara  ? " 

Mrs.  Worm,  who  had  been  all  this  time  engaged  in 
closing  her  umbrella,  corroborated  this  statement,  and  now, 
coming  in-doors,  showed  herself  to  be  a  wide-faced,  com- 
fortable-looking woman,  with  a  wart  upon  her  cheek,  bear* 
\ng  a  small  tuft  of  hair  in  its  centre. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES,  233 

"  Have  ye  ever  tried  anything  to  cure  yer  noise,  Master 
Worm  ?  "  inquired  Martin  Cannister. 

"  O  ay ;  bless  ye,  I've  tried  everything.  Ay,  Provi- 
dence is  a  merciful  man,  and  I  have  hoped  he'd  have  found 
it  out  by  this  time,  living  so  many  years  in  a  parson's  fami- 
ly, too,  as  I  have,  but  'a  don't  seem  to  relieve  me.  Ay,  I 
be  a  poor  wambling  man,  and  life's  a  mere  bubble." 

*'True,  mournful  true,  William  Worm.  'Tis  so.  The 
world  wants  looking  to,  or  'tis  all  sixes  and  sevens  wi'  us." 

*'  Take  your  things  off,  Mrs.  Worm,"  said  Mrs.  Smith. 
"  We  be  rather  in  a  muddle,  to  tell  the  truth  for  my  son 
is  jist  dropped  in  from  Indy  a  day  sooner  than  we  ex- 
pected, and  the  pig-killer  is  coming  presently  to  cut  up." 

Mrs.  Barbara  Worm,  not  wishing  to  take  any  mean  ad- 
vantage of  persons  in  a  muddle  by  observing  them,  re- 
moved her  bonnet  and  mantle  with  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
flowers  in  the  plot  outside  the  door. 

"  What  beautiful  tiger  lilies  ! "  said  Mrs.  Worm. 

"  Yes,  they  be  very  well,  but  such  a  trouble  to  me  on 
aocount  of  the  children  that  come  here.  They  will  go 
eating  the  berries  on  the  stem,  and  call  'em  currants. 
Taste  wi'  junivals  is  quite  fancy,  really." 

And  your  snapdragons  look  as  fierce  as  ever." 

"  Well  really,"  answered  Mrs.  Smith,  entering  didacti- 
cally into  the  subject,  "  they  are  more  like  Christians  than 
flowers.  But  they  make  up  well  enough  wi'  the  rest,  and 
don't  require  much  tending.  And  the  same  can  be  said  o' 
these  miller's  wheels.  'Tis  a  flower  I  like  very  much, 
though  so  simple.  Having  them  is  like  asking  your  rela- 
tions to  a  party — they  count  up  for  a  show,  and  you  haven't 
the  trouble  of  complimenting  'em.  John  says  he'd  neveif 
care  about  the  flowers  o'  'em,  but  men  have  no  eye  foi 
anything  nate.  He  says  his  favorite  flower  is  a  cauliflower. 
And  I  assure  you  I  tremble  in  the  spring-time,  for  'tis 
perfect  murder." 

"You  don't  say  so,  Mrs.  Smith  !  " 

"John  digs  round  the  roots,  you  know.  In  goes  his 
blundering  spade,  through  roots,  bulbs,  everything  that 
hasn't  got  a  good  show  above  ground,  turning  'em  up  cut 
all  to  shoes.  Only  the  very  last  fall  I  went  to  move  some 
tulips,  when  I  found  every  bulb  upside  down,  and  the  stems 


234  ^  P^/i?  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

crooked  round.  He  had  turned  'em  over  in  the  spring, 
and  the  cunning  creatures  had  soon  found  that  heaven  was 
not  where  it  used  to  be." 

"What's  that  long- favored  flower  under  the  hedge? " 
"  They  ?  O  Lord,  they  are  the  horrid  Jacob's  ladders  ! 
Instead  of  praising  'em,  I  be  mad  wi'  'em  for  being  so 
ready  to  bide  where  they  are  not  wanted.  They  be  very 
well  in  their  way,  but  I  do  not  care  for  things  that  neglect 
won't  kill.  Do  what  I  will,  dig,  drag,  scrap,  pull,  I  get  too 
many  of  'em.  I  chop  the  roots  :  up  they'll  come,  treble 
strong.  Throw  'em  over  hedge ;  there  they'll  grow,  star- 
ing me  in  the  face  like  a  hungry  dog  drove  away,  and  creep 
back  again  in  a  week  or  two  the  same  as  before.  'Tis 
Jacob's  ladder  here,  Jacob's  ladder  there,  and  plant  'em 
where  nothing  in  the  world  will  grow,  you  get  crowds  of 
'em  in  a  month  or  two.  John  made  a  new  manure  mixen 
last  summer,  and  he  said,  *  Mariar,  now  if  you've  got  any 
flowers  or  such  like,  that  you  don't  want,  you  may  plant 
'em  round  my  mixen  so  as  to  hide  it  a  bit,  though  'tis  not 
likely  anything  of  much  value  will  grow  there.'  I  thought, 
*  There's  them  Jacob's  ladders  ;  I'll  put  them  there,  since 
they  can't  do  harm  in  sich  a  place,'  and  I  planted  the 
Jacob's  ladders  sure  enough.  They  growed,  and  they 
growed,  in  the  mixen  and  out  of  the  mixen,  all  over  the 
litter,  covering  it  quite  up.  When  John  wanted  to  use  it 
about  the  garden,  'a  said,  *  Nation  seize  them  Jacob's 
ladders  of  yours,  Mariar !  They've  eat  the  goodness  out 
of  every  morsel  of  my  manure,  so  that  'tis  no  better  than 
sand  itself! '  Sure  enough  the  hungry  mortals  had.  'Tis 
my  belief  that  in  the  secret  souls  o'  'em,  Jacob's  ladders 
be  weeds,  and  not  flowers  at  all,  if  the  truth  was  known." 
Robert  Lickpan,  pig-killer  and  carrier,  arrived  at  this 
moment.  The  fatted  animal  hanging  in  the  back  kitchen 
was  cleft  down  the  middle  of  its  backbone,  Mrs.  Smith 
being  meanwhile  engaged  in  cooking  supper.  Between 
the  cutting  and  chopping,  ale  was  handed  round,  and 
Worm  and  the  pig-killer  listened  to  John  Smith's  descrip- 
tion of  the  meeting  with  Stephen,  with  eyes  blankly  fixed 
upon  the  table-cloth,  in  order  that  nothing  in  the  external 
world  should  interrupt  their  efforts  to  conjure  up  the 
scene  correctly. 


i  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES,  235 

Stephen  came  down  stairs  in  the  middle  of  the  story, 
and  after  the  little  interruption  occasioned  by  his  entrance 
and  welcome,  the  narrative  was  again  continued,  precisely 
as  if  he  had  not  been  there  at  all,  and  was  told  inclusively 
to  him,  as  to  somebody  who  knew  nothing  about  the  matter. 

"  *  Ay,'  I  said,  as  I  catched  sight  o'  en  through  the 
brimbles,  *  that's  the  lad,  for  I  d'  know  en  by  his  grand- 
father's walk  ;' for  ^a  stapped  out  like  poor  father  for  all 
the  world.  Still  there  was  a  touch  o'  the  frisky  that  set 
me  wondering.  'A  got  closer,  and  I  said,  'That's  the 
lad,  for  I'd  know  en  by  his  carrying  a  black  case  like  a 
travelling  man.'  Still,  a  road  is  common  to  all  the  world, 
and  there  be  more  travelling  men  than  one.  But  I  kept 
my  eye  cocked,  and  I  said  to  Martin,  *  'Tis  the  boy,  now, 
for  I  d'  know  en  by  the  wold  twirl  o'  the  stick  and  the 
family  step.'  Then  a'  cam  closer,  and  'a  said,  *  All  right.' 
I  could  swear  to  en  then." 

Stephen's  personal  appearance  was  next  criticised. 

"  He  d'  look  a  deal  thinner  in  face,  surely,  than  when 
I  seed  en  at  the  parson's,  and  never  knowed  en,  if  ye'll 
believe  me,"  said  Martin. 

"  Ay,  there,"  said  another,  without  removing  his  eyes 
from  Stephen's  face,  "  I  should  ha'  knowed  en  anywhere. 
'Tis  his  father's  nose  to  a  T." 

"  It  has  been  often  remarked,"  said  Stephen  modestly. 

"And  he's  certainly  taller,"  said  Martin,  letting  his 
glance  run  over  Stephen's  form  from  bottom  to  top. 

"  I  was  thinking  'a  was  exactly  the  same  height,"  Worm 
replied. 

"  Bless  thy  soul,  that's  because  he's  bigger  round  like- 
wise."    And  the  united  eyes  all  moved  to  Stephen's  waist. 

'*I  be  a  poor  wambling  man,  but  I  can  make  allow- 
ances," said  William  Worm.  "  Ah,  sure,  and  how  he  cam 
as  a  stranger  and  pilgrim  to  Parson  Swancourt's  that  time, 
not  a  soul  knowing  en  after  so  many  years  !  Ay,  life's  a 
strange  bubble,  Stephen :  but  I  suppose  I  must  say  Sir  to 
ye  ? " 

"  O,  it  is  not  necessary  at  present,"  Stephen  replied, 
though  mentally  resolving  to  avoid  the  vicinity  of  these 
familiar  friends  as  soon  as  he  had  made  pretentions  to  the 
hand  of  Elfride. 


236  ^  P^I^  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

"Ah,  well,"  said  Worm  musingly,  "  some  would  have 
looked  for  no  less  than  a  Sir.  There's  a  sight  of  differ- 
ence in  people." 

"  And  in  pigs  likewise,"  observed  John  Smith,  looking 
at  the  halved  carcass  of  his  own. 

Robert  Lickpan,  the  pig-killer,  here  seemed  called 
upon  to  enter  the  lists  of  conversation. 

"  Yes,  they've  got  their  particular  naters  good-now,"  he 
remarked  initially.  "  Many's  the  rum-tempered  pig  I've 
knowed." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,  Master  Lickpan,"  answered  Martin, 
in  a  tone  expressing  that  his  convictions,  no  less  than 
good  manners,  demanded  the  reply. 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  pig-kiiler,  as  one  accustomed  to 
be  heard.  "  One  that  I  knowed  was  deaf  and  dumb,  and 
we  couldn't  make  out  what  was  the  matter  wi'  the  pig.  'A 
would  eat  well  enough  when  'a  seed  the  trough,  but  when 
his  back  was  turned,  you  might  a-rattled  the  bucket  all 
day,  the  poor  soul  never  heard  ye.  Ye  could  play  tricks 
upon  en  behind  his  back,  and  'a  wouldn't  find  it  out  no 
quicker  than  poor  deaf  Grammer  Gates.  But  'a  fatted 
well,  and  I  never  seed  a  pig  open  better  when  'a  was  kil- 
led, and  'a  was  very  tender  eating,  very;  as  pretty  a  bit 
of  mate  as  ever  you  see ;  you  could  suck  that  mate  through 
a  quill. 

"  And  another  I  knowed,"  resumed  the  killer,  after 
quietly  letting  a  pint  of  ale  run  down  his  throat  of  its  own 
accord,  and  setting  down  the  cup  with  mathematical  exact- 
ness upon  the  spot  from  which  he  had  raised  it — "  another 
went  out  of  his  mind." 

"  How  very  mournful ! "  murmured  Mrs.  Worm. 

*'  Ay,  poor  thing,  'a  did  !  As  clean  out  of  his  mind  as 
the  cleverest  Ghristian  could  go.  In  early  life  'a  was  very 
melancholy,  and  never  seemed  a  hopeful  pig  by  no  means. 
*Twas  Andrew  Gandle's  pig — that's  whose  pig  'twas." 

*'  I  can  mind  the  pig  well  enough,"  attested  John  Smith. 

"  And  a  pretty  little  porker  'a  was.     And  you  all  know 
Farmer  Buckle's  sort  ?     Every  jack  o'  'em  siSfer  from  the 
rheumatism  to  this  day,  owing  to  a  damp  sty  tliey  lived  in 
when  they  were  striplings,  as  'twere." 
"  Well,  now  we'll  weigh,"  said  Jolm. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


237 


"  If  so  be  he  were  not  so  fine,  we'd  weigh  en  whole  : 
but  as  he  is,  we'll  take  a  side  at  a  time.  John,  you  can 
mind  my  old  joke,  ey  ?     A  good  old  joke,  that." 

"  I  do  so ;  though  'twas  a  good  few  years  ago  I  first 
heard  en." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lickpan,  "  that  there  old  familiar  joke  have 
been  in  our  family  for  generations,  I  may  say.  My  father  used 
that  joke  constantly  at  pig-killings  for  more  than  five-and- 
forty  years — the  time  he  followed  the  calling.  And  'a  told 
me  that  'a  had  it  from  his  father  when. he  was  quite  a  chiel, 
who  made  use  o'  en  just  the  same  at  every  killing  more  or 
less  ;  and  pig-killings  were  pig-killings  in  those  days." 

*'  Trewly  they  were." 

"I've  never  heard  the  joke,"  said  Mrs.  Smith  tenta- 
tively. 

"  Nor  I,"  chimed  in  Mrs.  Worm,  who,  being  the  only 
other  lady  in  the  room,  felt  bound  by  the  laws  of  courtesy 
to  feel  like  Mrs.  Smith  in  everything. 

"  Surely,  surely  you  have,"  said  the  killer,  looking  scep- 
tically at  the  benighted  females.  "  However,  'tisn't  much 
— I  don't  wish  to  say  it  is.  It  commences  like  this  :  *  Bob 
will  tell  the  weight  of  your  pig,  'a  b'lieve,'  says  I.  The 
congregation  of  neighbors  think  I  mane  my  son  Bob,  nat- 
urally; but  the  secret  is  that  I  mane  the  bob  o'  the  steel- 
yard.    Ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

"  Haw,  haw,  haw  !  "  laughed  Martin  Cannister,  who 
had  heard  the  explanation  for  the  hundredth  time. 

"  Huh,  huh,  huh  !  "  laughed  John  Smith,  who  had  heard 
it  for  the  thousandth. 

*'  Hee,  hee,  hee  !  "  laughed  William  Worm,  who  had 
never  heard  it  at  all,  but  was  afraid  to  say  so. 

"  Thy  grandfather,  Robert,  must  have  been  a  wide- 
awake chap  to  make  that  story,"  said  Martin  Cannister,  sub- 
siding to  a  placid  aspect  of  delighted  criticism. 

"  He  had  a  head,  by  all  account.  And,  you  see,  as  the 
first-born  of  the  Lickpans  have  all  been  Roberts,  they've 
all  been  Bobs,  so  the  story  was  handed  down  to  the  present 
day." 

"  Poor  Joseph,  your  second  boy,  will  never  be  able  to 
bring  it  out  in  company,  which  is  rather  unfortunate,"  said 
Mrs.  Worm  thoughtfully. 


238  ^  P^^^  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

"  'A  won't.  Yes,  grandfer  was  a  clever  chap,  as  ye  say ; 
but  I  knowed  a  cleverer.  'Twas  my  uncle  Levi.  Uncle 
Levi  made  a  snuff-box  that  should  be  a  puzzle  to  his  friends 
to  open.  He  used  to  hand  en  round  at  wedding  parties, 
christenings,  funerals,  and  in  other  jolly  company,  and  let 
'em  try  their  skill.  This  extraordinary  snuff-box  had  a 
spring  behind  that  would  push  in  and  out — a  hinge  where 
seemed  to  be  the  cover;  a  slide  at  the  end,  a  screw  in  front, 
and  knobs  and  mysterious  notches  everywhere.  One  man 
would  try  the  spring,  another  would  try  the  screw,  another 
would  try  the  slide  ;  but  try  as  they  would,  the  box  wouldn't 
open.  And  they  couldn't  open  en,  and  they  didn't  open  en. 
Now  what  might  you  think  was  the  secret  of  that  box.?'* 

All  put  on  an  expression  that  their  united  thoughts  were 
inadequate  to  the  occasion. 

"  Why,  the  box  wouldn't  open  at  all.  'A  were  made  not 
to  open,  and  ye  might  have  tried  till  the  end  of  Revelations, 
'twould  have  been  as  naught,  for  the  box  were  glued  all 
round." 

"A  very  deep  man  to  have  made  such  a  box." 

"  Yes.     'Twas  Hke  uncle  Levi  all  over." 

"  'Twas.  T  can  mind  the  man  very  well.  Tallest  man 
ever  I  seed." 

"  'A  was  so.  He  never  slept  upon  a  bedstead  after  he 
growed  up  a  hard  boy-chap — never  could  get  one  long 
enough.  When  'a  lived  in  that  little  small  house  by  the  pond, 
he  used  to  have  to  leave  open  his  chamber  door  every  night 
at  going  to  bed,  and  let  his  feet  poke  out  upon  the  landing." 

"  He's  dead  and  gone  now,  nevertheless,  poor  man,  as 
we  all  shall,"  observed  Worm,  to  fill  the  pause  which  fol- 
lowed the  conclusion  of  Robert  Lickpan's  speech. 

The  weighing  and  cutting  up  was  pursued  amid  an  ani- 
mated discourse  on  Stephen's  travels  ;  and  at  the  finish,  the 
first  fruits  of  the  day's  slaughter,  fried  in  onions,  were  then 
turned  from  the  pan  into  a  dish  on  the  table,  each  piece 
steaming  and  frizzling  till  it  reached  their  very  mouths. 

It  must  be  owned  that  the  gentlemanly  son  of  the  house 
looked  rather  out  of  place  in  the  course  of  this  operation. 
Nor  was  his  mind  quite  philosophic  enough  to  allow  him  to 
be  comfortable  with  these  worthies,  his  father's  old  friends. 
He  had  never  lived  long  at  home — scarcely  at  all  since  his 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


239 


childhood.  The  presence  of  William  Worm  was  the  most 
awkward  feature  of  the  case,  for,  though  Worm  had  left  the 
house  of  Mr.  Swancourt,  the  being  hand  in  glove  with  a  ci- 
devant  servitor  reminded  Stephen  too  forcibly  of  the  vicars 
classification  of  himself  before  he  went  from  England. 
Mrs.  Smith  was  conscious  of  the  defect  in  her  arrangements 
which  had  brought  about  the  undesired  conjunction.  She 
spoke  to  Stephen  privately. 

"  I  am  above  having  sich  people  here,  Stephen ;  but 
what  could  I  do  1  And  your  father  is  so  rough  in  his  na- 
ture that  he's  more  mixed  up  with  'em  than  need  be." 

"Never  mind,  mother,"  said  Stephen ;  "  I'll  put  up  with 
it  now." 

"  When  we  leave  my  lord's  service,  and  get  farther  down 
the  country — as  I  hope  we  shall  soon — it  will  be  different. 
We  shall  be  among  fresh  people,  and  in  a  larger  house,  and 
shall  keep  ourselves  up  a  bit,  I  hope." 

"  Is  Miss  Swancourt  at  home,  do  you  know? "  Stephen 
inquired. 

"  Yes,  your  father  saw  her  this  morning." 

"  Do  you  often  see  her  ?  " 

*'  Scarcely  ever.  Mr  Glim,  the  curate,  calls  occasion- 
ally, but  the  Swancourts  don't  come  into  the  village  now 
any  more  than  to  drive  through  it.  They  dine  at  my  Ior-^'<? 
oftener  than  they  used.  Ah,  here's  a  note  was  brought  thib 
morning  for  you  by  a  boy." 

Stephen  eagerly  took  the  note  and  opened  it,  his  moth- 
er watching  him.  He  read  what  Elfride  had  written  and 
sent  before  she  started  for  the  cliff  that  morning: 

**  Yes  j  I  will  meet  you  in  the  church  at  nine  to-night. 

E.  S." 

"  I  don't  know,  Stephen,"  his  mother  said  meaninglyt 
"  whe'r  you  still  think  about  Miss  Elfride,  but  if  I  were  you 
I  wouldn't  concern  about  her.  They  say  that  none  of  old 
Mrs.  Swancourt's  money  will  come  to  her  step-daughter." 

"  I  see  the  evening  has  turned  out  fine  ;  I  am  going  out 
for  a  little  while  to  look  round  the  place,"  he  said,  evading 
the  direct  query.  "  Probably  by  the  time  I  return  our  vis- 
itors will  be  gone,  and  we'll  have  a  more  confidential  talk." 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

"  BREEZE,  BIRD,  AND  FLOWER  CONFESS  THE  HOUR  " 

THE  rain  had  ceased  since  the  sunset,  but  it  was  a 
cloudy  night ;  and  the  light  of  the  moon,  softened 
and  dispersed  by  its  misty  veil,  was  distributed  over  the 
land  in  pale  grey. 

A  dark  figure  stepped  from  the  doorway  of  John  Smith's 
river-side  cottage,  and  strode  rapidly  towards  West  Endel- 
stow  with  a  light  footstep.  Soon  ascending  from  the 
lower  levels  he  turned  a  corner,  followed  a  cart-track,  and 
saw  the  tower  of  the  church  he  was  in  quest  of  distinctly 
shaped  forth  against  the  sky.  In  less  than  half  an  hour 
from  the  time  of  starting  he  swung  himself  over  the  church- 
yard stile. 

'^he  wild  irregular  enclosure  was  as  much  as  ever  an 
.ntegral  part  of  the  old  hill.  The  grass  was  still  long,  the 
graves  were  shaped  precisely  as  passing  years  chose  to  alter 
them  from  their  orthodox  form  as  laid  down  by  Martin 
Cannister,  and  by  Stephen's  own  grandfather  before  him. 

A  sound  sped  into  the  air  from  the  direction  in  which 
Stranton  lay.  It  was  the  striking  of  the  church  clock,  dis- 
tinct in  the  still  atmosphere  as  if  it  had  come  from  the 
tower  hard  by,  which,  wrapt  in  its  solitary  silentness,  gave 
out  no  such  sounds  of  life. 

*'  One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight,  nine." 
Stephen  carefully  counted  the  strokes,  though  he  well  knew 
their  number  beforehand.  Nine  o'clock.  It  was  the  hour 
Elfride  had  herself  named  as  the  most  convenient  for  meet- 
ing him. 

Stephen  stood  at  the  door  of  the  porch  and  listened. 
He  could  have  heard  the  softest  breathing  of  any  person  in 
the  porch ;  nobody  was  there.     He  went  inside  the  door 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES,  24 1 

way,  sat  down  upon  the  stone  bench,  and  waited  with  a 
beating  heart. 

^  The  faint  sounds  heard  only  accented  the  silence.  The 
rising  and  falling  of  the  sea,  far  away  along  the  coast,  was 
the  most  important.  A  minor  sound  was  the  scurr  of  a 
distant  night-hawk.  Among  the  minutest  where  all  were 
minute  was  the  light  settlement  of  gossamer  fragments 
floating  in  the  air,  a  toad  humbly  laboring  along  through 
the  grass  near  the  entrance,  the  crackle  of  a  dead  leaf 
which  a  worm  was  endeavoring  to  pull  into  the  earth,  a 
waft  of  air,  getting  nearer  and  nearer,  and  expiring  at  his 
feet  under  the  burden  of  a  winged  seed. 

Among  all  these  soft  sounds  came  not  the  only  soft 
sound  he  cared  to  hear — the  footfall  of  Elfride. 

For  a  whole  quarter  of  an  hour  Stephen  sat  thus  intent, 
without  moving  a  muscle.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he 
walked  to  the  west  front  of  the  church.  Turning  the  cor- 
ner of  the  tower,  a  white  form  stared  him  in  the  face.  He 
started  back,  and  recovered  himself.  It  was  the  tomb  of 
young  farmer  Jethway,  looking  still  as  fresh  and  as  new  as 
when  it  was  first  erected,  the  white  stone  in  which  it  was 
hewn  having  a  singular  weirdness  amid  the  dark  blue  slabs 
from  local  quarries,  of  which  the  whole  remaining  grave- 
stones were  formed. 

He  thought  of  the  night  when  he  had  sat  thereon  with 
Elfride  as  his  companion,  and  well  remembered  his  regret 
that  she  had  received,  even  unwillingly,  earlier  homage 
than  his  own.  But  his  present  tangible  anxiety  reduced 
such  a  feehng  to  sentimental  nonsense  in  comparison  ;  and 
he  strolled  on  over  the  graves  to  the  border  of  the  church- 
yard, whence  in  the  day-time  could  be  clearly  seen  the  vicar- 
age and  the  present  residence  of  the  Swancourts.  No  foot- 
step was  discernible  upon  the  path  up  the  hill,  but  a  light 
was  shining  from  a  window  in  the  last-named  house. 

Stephen  knew  there  could  be  no  mistake  about  the  time 
or  place,  and  no  difficulty  about  keeping  the  engagement. 
He  waited  yet  longer,  passing  from  impatience  into  a  mood 
which  failed  to  take  any  account  of  the  lapse  of  time.  He 
was  awakened  from  his  reverie  by  Stranton  clock. 

One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight,  nine,  ten. 

One  little  fall  of  the  hammer  in  addition  to  the  number 
II 


242 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


it  had  been  unalloyed  pleasure  to  hear,  and  what  a  differ 
ence  to  him  ! 

He  left  the  churchyard  on  the  side  opposite  to  his  point 
of  entrance,  and  went  down  the  hill.  Slowly  he  drew  near 
the  gate  of  her  house.  This  he  softly  opened,  and  walked 
up  the  gravel  drive  to  the  door.  Here  he  paused  for  sev- 
eral minutes. 

At  the  expiration  of  that  time  a  clear  soft  laugh  came 
out  to  his  ears  through  an  open  window  behind  the  corner 
of  the  house.     It  was  the  laugh  of  Elfride. 

Stephen  was  conscious  of  a  gnawing  pain  at  his  heart. 
He  retreated  as  he  had  come.  There  are  disappointments 
which  wring  us,  and  there  are  those  which  inflict  a  v>^ound 
whose  mark  we  bear  to  our  graves.  Such  are  so  keen  that 
no  future  gratification  of  the  same  desire  can  ever  obliterate 
them  :  they  become  registered  at  once  as  a  permanent  loss 
of  happiness.  Such  a  one  was  Stephen's  now :  the  crown- 
ing aureola  of  the  dream  had  been  the  meeting  here  by 
stealth  ;  and  if  Elfride  had  come  to  him  only  ten  minutes 
after  he  had  turned  away,  the  disappointment  would  have 
been  ineradicable  still. 

When  the  young  man  reached  home,  he  found  there  a 
a  letter  which  had  arrived  in  his  absence.  Believing  it  to 
contain  some  reason  for  her  non-appearance,  yet  unable  to 
imagine  one  that  could  justify  her,  he  hastily  tore  open  the 
envelope. 

The  paper  contained  not  a  word  from  Elfride.  It  was 
the  deposit-note  for  his  two  hundred  pounds.  On  the 
back  was  a  form  of  a  check,  and  this  she  had  filled  up  with 
the  same  sum,  payable  to  the  bearer. 

Stephen  was  confounded.  He  attempted  to  divine  her 
motive.  Considering  how  limited  was  his  knowledge  of 
her  later  actions,  he  guessed  rather  shrewdly  that,  between 
the  time  of  her  sending  the  note  in  the  morning  and  the 
evening's  silent  refusal  of  his  gift,  something  had  occurred 
which  had  caused  a  total  change  in  her  attitude  towards 
him. 

He  knew  not  what  to  do.  It  seemed  absurd  now  to  go 
to  her  father  next  morning,  as  he  had  purposed,  and  ask 
for  an  engagement  with  her,  a  possibility  impending  all  the 
while  that  Elfride  herself  would  not  be  on  his  side.     Only 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  243 

one  course  recommended  itself  as  wise.  To  wait  and  see 
what  the  days  would  bring  forth ;  to  go  and  execute  his 
commissions  in  Birmingham  ;  then  to  return,  learn  if  any- 
thing had  transpired,  and  try  what  a  meeting  might  do : 
perhaps  her  surprise  at  his  backwardness  would  bring  her 
forward  to  show  her  old  warmth  as  decidedly  as  in  old 
times. 

This  act  of  patience  was  in  keeping  only  with  the  nature 
of  a  man  precisely  of  Stephen's  constitution.  Nme  men 
out  of  ten  would  perhaps  have  rushed  off,  got  into  her  pres- 
ence by  fair  means  or  foul,  and  provoked  a  catastrophe 
of  some  sort.  Possibly  for  the  better,  probably  for  the 
worse. 

He  started  for  Birmingham  the  next  morning.  A  day's 
delay  would  have  made  no  difference ;  but  he  could  not 
rest  until  he  had  begun  and  ended  the  programme  pro- 
posed to  himself.  Bodily  activity  will  sometimes  take  the 
sting  out  of  anxiety  as  completely  as  assurance  itself 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"MINE  OWN  FAMILIAR  FRIEND." 

DURING  these  days  of  absence  Stephen  lived  under 
alternate  conditions.  Whenever  his  emotions  were 
active,  he  was  in  agony.  Whenever  he  was  not  in  agony, 
the  business  in  hand  had  driven  out  of  his  mind  by  sheer 
force  all  reflection  on  the  subject  of  Elfride. 

By  the  time  he  commenced  his  return  journey  at  the 
week's  end,  Stephen  had  very  nearly  worked  himself  up 
to  an  intention  to  call  and  see  her  face  to  face.  On  this 
occasion  also  he  adopted  his  favorite  route — by  steamer 
from  Bristol  to  Stranton ;  the  time  saved  by  speed  on  the 
railway  being  wasted  at  junctions,  and  in  following  a  devi- 
ous course. 

It  was  a  bright  silent  evening  at  the  beginning  of 
September  when  Smith  again  set  foot  in  the  little  town. 
He  felt  inclined  to  linger  a  while  upon  the  quay  before 
ascending  the  hills,  having  formed  a  romantic  intention  to 
go  home  by  way  of  her  house,  yet  not  wishing  to  wander 
in  its  neighborhood  till  the  evening  shades  should  suffi- 
ciently screen  him  from  observation. 

And  thus  waiting  for  night's  nearer  approach,  he 
watched  the  placid  scene,  over  which  the  pale  luminosity 
of  the  west  cast  a  sorrowful  monochrome,  that  became 
slowly  embrowned  by  the  dusk.  A  star  appeared,  and 
another,  and  another.  They  sparkled  amid  the  yards  and 
rigging  of  the  two  coal  brigs  lying  alongside,  as  if  they  had 
been  tiny  lamps  suspended  in  the  ropes.  The  masts 
rocked  sleepily  to  the  infinitesimal  flux  of  the  tide,  which 
clucked  and  gurgled  with  idle  regularity  m  nooks  and 
holes  of  the  harbor  wall. 

The  twilight  was  now  quite  pronounced  enough  for  his 
purpose;  and  as,  rather  sad  at  heart,  he  was  about  to 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  245 

move  on,  a  little  boat  containing  two  persons  glided  up 
the  middle  of  the  harbor  with  the  lightness  of  a  shadow. 
The  boat  came  opposite  him,  passed  on,  and  touched  the 
landing-steps  at  the  farther  end.  One  of  its  occupants 
was  a  man,  as  Stephen  had  known  by  the  easy  stroke  of 
the  oars.  When  the  pair  ascended  the  steps,  and  came 
into  greater  prominence,  he  was  enabled  to  discern  that 
the  second  personage  was  a  female  ;  also  that  she  wore  a 
white  decoration — apparently  a  feather — in  her  hat_  or 
bonnet,  which  spot  of  white  was  the  only  distinctly  visible 
portion  of  her  clothing. 

Stephen  remained  a  moment  in  their  rear,  and  they 
passed  on,  when  he  pursued  his  way  also,  and  soon  forgot 
the  circumstance.  Having  crossed  a  bridge,  forsaken  the 
high-road,  and  entered  the  footpath  which  led  up  the  vale 
to  West  Endelstow,  he  heard  a  little  wicket  click  softly 
together  some  yards  ahead.  By  the  time  Stephen  had 
reached  the  wicket  and  passed  it,  he  heard  another  click 
of  precisely  the  same  nature  from  another  gate  yet  farther 
on.  Clearly  some  person  or  persons  were  preceding  him 
along  the  path,  their  footsteps  being  rendered  noiseless  by 
the  soft  carpet  of  turf.  Stephen  now  walked  a  little 
quicker,  and  perceived  two  forms.  One  of  them  bore 
aloft  the  white  feather  he  had  noticed  in  the  female's  hat 
on  the  quay :  they  were  the  couple  he  had  seen  in  the 
boat.     Stephen  dropped  a  little  farther  to  the  rear. 

From  the  bottom  of  the  valley,  along  which  the  path 
had  hitherto  lain,  beside  the  m.argin  of  the  trickling 
streamlet,  another  path  now  diverged,  and  ascended  the 
slope  of  the  left-hand  hill.  This  footway  led  only  to  the 
residence  of  Mrs.  Swancourt  and  a  cottage  or  two  in  its 
vicinity.  No  grass  covered  this  diverging  path  in  portions 
of  its  length,  and  Stephen  was  reminded  that  the  pair  in 
front  of  him  had  taken  this  route  by  the  occasional  rattle 
of  the  loose  stones  under  their  feet.  Stephen  climbed  in 
the  same  direction,  but  for  some  undefined  reason  he  trod 
more  softly  than  did  those  preceding  him.  His  mind  was 
unconsciously  in  exercise  upon  whom  the  female  iiiight^  be 
— whether  a  visitor  to  the  Crags,  a  servant,  or  Elfride. 
He  put  it  to  himself  yet  more  forcibly ;  could  the  lady  be 
Elfride  ?    A  possible  reason  for  her  unaccountable  failure 


246  ^  P^^R  ^^  BLUE  EYES. 

to  keep  the  aiDpointment  with  him  returned  with  painful 
force. 

They  entered  the  grounds  of  the  house  by  the  side 
wicket,  whence  the  path,  now  wide  and  well  trimmed, 
wended  fantastically  through  the  shrubbery  to  an  octa- 
gonal pavilion  called  the  Belvedere,  by  reason  of  the  com- 
prehensive view  over  the  adjacent  district  that  its  green 
seats  afforded.  The  path  passed  this  erection  and  went 
on  to  the  house  as  well  as  to  the  gardener's  cottage  on  the 
other  side,  straggling  thence  to  East  Endelstow ;  so  that 
Stephen  felt  no  hesitation  in  entering  a  promenade  which 
could  scarcely  be  called  private. 

He  fancied  he  heard  the  gate  open  and  swing  together 
again  behind  him.     Turning,  he  saw  nobody. 

The  people  of  the  boat  came  to  the  summer-house. 
One  of  them  spoke. 

"  I  am  afraid  we  shall  get  a  scolding  for  being  so  late." 

Stephen  instantly  recognized  the  familiar  voice,  richer 
and  fuller  now  than  it  used  to  be.  "  Elfride  !  "  he  wiiis- 
pered  to  himself,  and  held  fast  by  a  sapling,  to  steady  him- 
self under  the  agitation  her  presence  caused  him.  His 
heart  sank  within  him ;  he  dreaded  to  know  the  meaning 
he  sought. 

"  A  breeze  is  rising  again  ;  how  the  ash-tree  rustles  !  " 
said  Elfride.  "Don't  you  hear  it?  I  wonder  what  the 
time  is." 

Stephen  relinquished  the  sapling. 

"  I  will  get  a  light  and  tell  you.  Step  into  the  summer 
house  ;  the  air  is  quiet  there." 

The  cadence  of  that  voice — he  seemed  to  recognize  its 
peculiarity,  as  he  had  recognized  some  notes  of  the  north- 
ern birds  on  his  return  to  his  native  clime,  as  an  old  nat- 
ural thing  renewed,  yet  not  particularly  noticed  as  natural 
before  that  renewal. 

They  entered  the  Belvedere.  In  the  lower  part  it  was 
formed  of  close  woodwork  nailed  crosswise,  and  had  open- 
ings in  the  upper  by  way  of  v.'indows. 

The  scratch  of  a  striking  light  was  heard,  and  a  bright 

glow  radiated  from  the  interior  of  the  building.     The  light 

was  the  mother  of  a  thousand  new  existences.     It  gave 

to    dancing    leaf-shadows,   stem-shadows,   lustrous 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  247 

Streaks,  dots,  sparkles,  and  threads  of  silver  sheen  of  all 
imaginable  variety  and  transience.  It  awakened  gnats, 
which  flew  towards  it,  revealed  shiny  gossamer  threads, 
disturbed  earthworms.  Stephen  gave  but  little  attention 
to  these  phenomena,  and  less  time.  He  saw  in  the  sum- 
mer-house a  strongly-illuminated  picture. 

First,  the  face  of  his  friend  and  preceptor  Henry 
Knight,  between  whom  and  himself  an  estrangement  had 
arisen,  not  from  any  definite  causes  beyond  those  of  ab- 
sence, increasing  age,  and  diverging  sympathies. 

Next,  his  bright  particular  star,  Elfride.  The  face  of 
Elfride  was  more  womanly  than  when  she  had  called  her- 
self his,  but  as  clear  and  healthy  as  ever.  Her  plenteous 
twines  of  beautiful  hair  were  looking  much  as  usual,  with 
the  exception  of  a  slight  modification  in  their  arrangement, 
in  deference  to  the  changes  of  fashion. 

Their  two  foreheads  were  close  together,  almost  touch- 
ing, and  both  were  looking  down.  Elfride  was  holding  her 
watch.  Knight  was  holding  the  light  with  one  hand,  his  left 
arm  being  round  her  waist  Part  of  the  scene  reached 
Stephen's  eyes  through  the  horizontal  bars  of  woodwork, 
which  crossed  their  forms  like  the  ribs  of  a  skeleton.^ 

Knight's  arm  stole  still  farther  round  the  waist  of 
Elfride. 

"  It  is  half-past  eight,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  \yhich 
had  a  peculiar  music  in  it,  seemingly  born  of  a  thrill  of 
pleasure  at  the  new  proof  that  she  was  beloved. 

The  flame  dwindled  down,  died  away,  and  all  was 
wrapped  in  a  darkness  to  which  the  gloom  before  the  illu- 
mination bore  no  comparison  in  apparent  density.  Ste- 
phen, shattered  in  spirit  and  sick  to  his  heart's  core,  turned 
away.  In  turning,  he  saw  a  shadowy  outline  behind  the 
summer-house  on  the  other  side.  His  eyes  grew  accus- 
tomed to  the  darkness.  Was  the  form  a  human  form,  or 
was  it  an  opaque  bush  of  juniper  ? 

The  lovers  arose,  brushed  against  the  laurestines,  and 
pursued  their  way  to  the  house.  The  indistinct  figure  had 
moved,  and  now^  passed  across  Smith's  front.  So  com- 
pletely enveloped  was  the  person,  that  it  was  impossible  to 
recognize  him  or  her  any  more  than  as  a  shape.  The 
shape  glided  noiselessly  on. 


248  ^  P^^^  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

Stephen  stepped  forward,  fearing  any  mischief  was  in- 
tended to  the  other  two.     "  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Never  mind  who  I  am,"  answered  a  meek  whisper 
from  the  enveloping  folds.  "  What  I  am,  may  she  be ! 
Perhaps  I  knew  well — ah,  so  well ! — a  youth  whose  place 
you  took,  as  he  there  now  takes  yours.  Will  you  let  her 
break  your  heart,  and  bring  you  to  an  untimely  grave,  as 
she  did  the  one  before  you  ?  " 

"You  are  Mrs.  Jethway,  I  think.  What  do  you  do 
here  ?     And  why  do  you  talk  so  wildly  ?  " 

"  Because  my  heart  is  desolate,  and  nobody  cares  about 
it.     May  hers  be  so  that  brought  trouble  upon  me  ! " 

"  Silence ! "  said  Stephen,  staunch  to  Elfride  in  spite 
of  himself.  "She  would  harm  nobody  wilfully,  never 
would  she !     How  do  you  come  here  ?  " 

"  I  saw  the  two  coming  up  the  path,  and  wanted  to 
learn  if  she  were  not  one  of  them.  Can  I  help  disliking 
her  if  I  think  of  the  past  t  Can  I  help  watching  her  if  I 
remember  my  boy .?  Can  I  help  ill-wishing  her  if  I  well- 
wish  him  ? " 

The  bowed  form  went  on,  passed  through  the  wicket, 
and  was  enveloped  by  the  shadows  of  the  field. 

Stephen  had  heard  that  Mrs.  Jethway,  since  the  death 
of  her  son,  had  become  a  crazed,  forlorn  woman  ;  and  be- 
stowing a  pitying  thought  upon  her,  he  dismissed  her  fan- 
cied wrongs  from  his  mind,  but  not  her  condemnation  of 
Elfride's  faithlessness.  That  entered  into  and  mingled 
with  the  sensations  his  new  experience  had  begotten.  The 
tale  told  by  the  little  scene  he  had  witnessed  ran  parallel 
with  the  unhapjDy  woman's  opinion,  which,  however  base- 
less it  might  have  been  antecedently,  had  become  true 
enough  as  regarded  himself. 

A  slow  weight  of  despair,  as  distinct  from  a  violent 
paroxysm  as  starvation  from  a  mortal  shot,  filled  him  and 
wrung  him  body  and  soul.  The  discovery  had  not  been 
altogether  unexpected,  for  throughout  his  anxiety  of  the 
last  few  days  since  the  night  in  the  churchyard,  he  had 
been  inclined  to  construe  the  uncertainty  unfavorable  to 
himself.  His  hopes  for  the  best  had  been  but  periodic  in- 
terruptions of  a  chronic  fear  of  the  worst. 

A  strange  concomitant  of  his  misery  was  the  singularity 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


249 


of  its  form.  That  his  rival  should  be  Knight,  whom  once 
upon  a  time  he  had  adored  as  a  man  is  very  rarely  adored 
by  another  in  modern  times,  and  whom  he  loved  now,  add- 
ed deprecation  to  sorrow,  and  cynicism  to  both.  Henry 
Knight,  whose  praises  he  had  so  frequently  trumpeted  in 
her  ears,  of  whom  she  had  actually  been  jealous,  lest  she 
hrrself  should  be  lessened  in  Stephen's  love  on  account  of 
hin,  had  probably  won  her  the  more  easily  by  reason  of 
those  very  praises  which  he  had  only  ceased  to  utter  by  her 
command.  She  had  ruled  him  like  a  queen  in  that  matter, 
as  in  all  others.  Stephen  could  tell  by  her  manner,  brief 
as  had  been  his  observation  of  it,  and  by  her  words,  few  as 
they  were,  that  her  position  was  far  different  with  Knight. 
That  she  looked  up  at  and  adored  her  new  lover  from  be- 
low his  pedestal,  was  even  more  perceptible  than  that  she 
had  smiled  down  upon  Stephen  from  a  height  above  him. 

The  suddenness  of  Elfride's  renunciation  of  himself 
was  good  for  more  torture.  To  an  unimpassioned  out- 
sider, it  admitted  of  at  least  two  interpretations — it  might 
either  have  proceeded  from  an  endeavor  to  be  faithful  to 
her  first  choice,  till  the  lover  seen  absolutely  overpowered 
the  lover  remembered,  or  from  a  wish  not  to  lose  his  love 
till  sure  of  the  love  of  another.  But  to  Stephen  Smith  the 
motive  involved  in  the  latter  alternative  made  it  untenable 
where  Elfride  was  the  actor.  He  mused  on  her  letters  to 
him,  in  which  she  had  never  mentioned  a  syllable  concern- 
ing Knight. 

It  is  desirable,  however,  to  observe  that  only  in  two 
letters  could  she  possibly  have  done  so.  One  was  written 
about  a  week  before  Knight's  arrival,  when,  though  she  did 
not  mention  his  promised  coming  to  Stephen,  she  had 
hardly  a  definite  reason  in  her  mind  for  neglecting  to  do 
so.  In  the  next  she  did  casually  allude  to  Knight.  But 
Stephen  had  left  Bombay  long  before  that  letter  arrived. 

Stephen  looked  at  the  dark  form  of  the  adjacent  house, 
where  it  cut  a  dark  polygonal  notch  out  of  the  sky,  and  felt 
that  he  hated  the  spot.  He  did  not  know  many  facts  of 
the  case,  but  could  not  help  instinctively  associating  El- 
fride's fickleness  with  the  marriage  of  her  father  and  their 
introduction  to  London  society.  He  closed  the  iron  gate 
bounding  the  shrubbery  as  noiselessly  as  he  had  opened  it, 


250 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 


and  went  into  the  grassy  field.  Here  he  could  see  the  old 
vicarage,  the  house  alone  that  was  associated  with  the 
sweet  pleasant  time  of  his  incipient  love  for  Elfride.  Turn- 
ing sadly  from  the  place  that  was  no  longer  a  nook  in  which 
his  thoughts  might  nestle  when  he  was  far  away,  he  wan- 
dered in  the  direction  of  the  east  village,  to  reach  his 
father's  house  before  they  retired  to  rest. 

The  nearest  way  to  the  cottage  was  by  crossing  the 
park.  He  did  not  hurry.  Happiness  frequently  has  rea- 
son for  haste,  but  it  is  seldom  that  desolation  need  scram- 
ble or  strain.  Sometimes  he  paused  under  the  low-hang- 
ing arms  of  the  trees,  looking  vacantly  on  the  ground. 

Stephen  was  standing  thus,  scarcely  less  crippled  in 
thought  than  he  was  blank  in  vision,  when  a  clear  sound 
permeated  the  quiet  air  about  him,  and  spread  on  far  be- 
yond. The  sound  was  the  stroke  of  a  bell  from  the  tower 
of  East  Endelstow  church,  which  stood  in  a  dell  not  forty 
yards  from  Lord  Luxellian's  mansion,  and  within  the  park 
enclosure.  Another  stroke  greeted  his  ear,  and  gave  char- 
acter to  both :  then  came  a  slow  succession  of  them. 

"  Somebody  is  dead,"  he  said  aloud. 

The  death  knell  of  an  inhabitant  of  the  eastern  parish 
was  being  tolled. 

An  unusual  feature  in  the  tolling  was  that  it  had  not 
been  begun  according  to  the  custom  in  Endelstow  and  other 
parishes  in  the  neighborhood.  At  every  death  the  sex  and 
age  of  the  deceased  were  announced  by  a  system  of  changes. 
Three  times  three  strokes  signified  that  the  departed  one 
was  a  man  ;  three  times  two,  a  woman  ;  twice  three,  a  boy ; 
twice  two,  a  girl.  The  regular  continuity  of  the  tolling  sug- 
gested that  it  was  the  resumption  rather  than  the  beginning 
of  a  knell — the  opening  portion  of  which  Stephen  had  not 
been  near  enough  to  hear. 

The  momentary  anxiety  he  had  felt  with  regard  to  his 
parents  passed  away.  He  had  left  them  in  perfect  health, 
and  had  any  serious  illness  seized  either,  a  communication 
would  have  reached  him  ere  this.  At  the  same  time,  since 
his  way  homeward  lay  under  the  churchyard  yews,  he  re- 
solved to  look  into  the  belfry  in  passing  by,  and  speak  a 
word  to  Martin  Cannister,  who  Vs^ould  be  there. 

Stephen  reached  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  felt  inclined 


^  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  25I 

to  renounce  his  idea.  His  mood  was  such  that  talking  to 
any  person  to  whom  he  could  not  unburden  himself  would 
be  wearisome.  However,  before  he  could  put  any  inclina- 
tion into  effect,  the  young  man  saw  from  amid  the  trees  a 
bright  light  shining,  the  rays  from  which  radiated  like 
needles  through  the  sad  plumy  foliage  of  the  yews.  Its 
direction  was  from  the  centre  of  the  churchyard. 

Stephen  mechanically  went  forward.  Never  could  there 
be  a  greater  contrast  between  two  places  of  like  purpose 
than  between  this  graveyard  and  that  of  the  farther  village. 
Here  the  grass  was  carefully  tended,  and  formed  virtually  a 
part  of  the  manor-house  lawn  ;  flowers  and  shrubs  being 
planted  ii:discriminately  over  both,  while  the  few  graves 
visible  were  mathematically  exact  in  shape  and  smoothness, 
appearing  in  the  daytime  like  chins  newly  shaven.  There 
was  no  wall,  the  division  between  God's  Acre  and  Lord 
Luxellian's  being  marked  only  by  a  few  square  stones  set  at 
equidistant  points.  Among  those  persons  who  have  romantic 
sentiments  on  the  subject  of  their  last  dwelling-place,  prob- 
ably the  greater  number  would  have  chosen  such  a  spot  as 
this  in  preference  to  any  other  ;  a  few  would  have  fancied  a 
constraint  in  its  trim  neatness,  and  would  have  preferred  the 
uild  hill-top  of  the  neighboring  site,  with  Nature  in  her  most 
negligent  attire. 

The  light  in  the  churchyard  he  next  discovered  to  have 
its  source  in  a  point  very  near  the  ground,  and  Stephen  im- 
agined it  might  come  from  a  lantern  in  the  interior  of  a 
partly  dug  grave.  But  a  nearer  approach  showed  him  that 
its  position  was  immediately  under  the  wall  of  the  aisle,  and 
within  the  mouth  of  an  archway.  He  could  now  hear  voices, 
and  the  truth  of  the  whole  matter  began  to  dawn  upon  him. 
Walking  on  towards  the  opening.  Smith  discerned  on  his 
left  hand  a  heap  of  earth,  and  before  him  a  flight  of  stone 
steps  which  the  removed  earth  had  uncovered,  leading  down 
under  the  edifice.  It  was  the  entrance  to  a  large  family 
vault,  extending  under  the  north  aisle. 

Stephen  had  never  before  seen  it  open,  and  descending 
one  or  two  steps  stooped  to  look  under  the  arch.  The  vault 
appeared  to  be  crowded  with  coffins,  with  the  exception  of 
an  open  central  space,  which  had  been  necessarily  kept 


252  ^  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

free  for  ingress  and  access  to  the  sides,  round  three  of 
which  the  coffins  were  stacked  in  stone  bins  or  niches. 

The  place  was  well  lighted  with  candles  stuck  in  slips 
of  wood  that  were  fastened  to  the  wall.  On  making  the 
descent  of  another  step  the  living  inhabitants  of  the  vault 
were  recognizable.  They  were  his  father  the  master-mason, 
Martin  Cannister,  and  two  or  three  young  and  old  laboring 
men.  Crowbars  and  workmen's  hammers  were  scattered 
about.  The  whole  company,  sitting  round  on  coffins  which 
had  been  removed  from  their  places,  apparently  for  some 
alteration  or  enlargement  of  the  vault,  were  eating  bread 
and  cheese,  and  drinking  ale  from  a  cup  with  two  handles 
passed  round  from  each  to  each. 

"  Who  is  dead  ?  "    Stephen  inquired,  stepping  down. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

•*T0   THAT  LAST  NOTHING  UNDER   EARTH/ 

ALL  eyes  were  turned  to  the  entrance  as  Stephen  spoke, 
and  the  ancient-mannered  conclave  scrutinized  him 
inquiringly. 

"  Why,  'tis  our  Stephen  !  "  said  his  father,  rising  from 
his  seat,  and  still  retaining  the  mug  in  his  left  hand,  while 
he  held  out  his  right  for  a  grasp.  "  Your  mother  is  expect- 
ing ye — thought  you  would  have  come  afore  dark.  But  ye'll 
wait  and  go  home  with  me  ?  I  have  all  but  done  for  the 
day,  and  was  going  directly." 

*'  Yes,  'tis  Master  Stephy,  sure  enough.  Glad  to  see  ye 
so  soon  again,  Master  Smith,"  said  Martin  Cannister, 
chastening  the  gladness  expressed  in  his  words  by  a  strict 
neutrality  of  countenance,  in  order  to  harmonize  the  feeling 
as  much  as  possible  with  his  position  in  a  family  vault. 

"  The  same  to  you  Martin  ;  and  you,  William,"  said 
Stephen,  nodding  around  to  the  rest,  who  having  their 
mouths  full  of  bread  and  cheese,  were  of  necessity  compel- 
led to  reply  merely,  by  looks,  which  they  made  friendly  by 
compressing  their  eyes  to  lines  and  wrinkles. 

"  And  who  is  dead  ?  "  Stephen  repeated. 

"  Lady  Luxellian,  poor  gentlewoman,  as  we  all  shall," 
said  a  mason.  "  Ay,  and  we  be  going  to  enlarge  the  vault 
to  make  room  for  her." 

"  When  did  she  die  ?  " 

"  Early  this  morning,"  his  father  replied,  with  an  appear- 
ance of  recurring  to  a  chronic  thought.  "  Yes,  this  morning. 
Martin  hev  been  tolling  ever  since,  almost.  There,  'twas 
expected.     She  was  very  delicate." 

"  Ay,  poor  gentlewoman,  this  morning,"  said  the  under- 
mason,  a  marvellously  old  man,  whose  skin  seemed  so  much 
too  large  for  his  body  that  it  would  not  stay  in  position. 


254 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


"  She  must  know  by  this  time  whether  she's  to  go  up  or 
down,  poor  creature." 

"What  was  her  age?" 

"  Not  more  than  seven  or  eight-and-twenty  by  candle- 
light, poor  soul.  But  Lord  !  by  day  'a  was  forty  if  'a  were 
an  hour." 

"Ay,  night-time  or  day-time  makes  a  difference  of 
twenty  years  to  rich  feymels,"  observed  Martin. 

"  She  was  one-and-thirty  really,"  said  John  Smith.  "I 
bad  it  from  them  that  know." 

"  Not  more  than  that !  " 

"  'A  looked  very  bad,  poor  lady.  In  faith,  ye  might  say 
she  was  dead  for  years  afore  'a  would  own  it,  poor  gentle- 
woman." 

"  As  my  poor  father  used  to  say,  *  dead,  but  won't  drop 
down.'" 

"  I  seed  her,  poor  soul,"  said  a  laborer  from  behind 
some  removed  coffins,  *'  only  but  last  Valentine's  day  of  all 
the  world.  'A  was  arm  in  crook  wi'  my  lord.  I  says  to 
myself,  '  You  be  ticketed  Churchyard,  my  noble  lady,  al- 
though you  don't  dream  on't.'  " 

"  I  suppose  my  lord  will  write  to  all  the  other  noble 
lords  anointed  in  the  nation,  to  let  'em  know  that  she   that 


was  IS  now  no  more 


?  » 


"  'Tis  done  and  past.  I  see  a  bundle  go  off  an  hour 
after  the  death.  Sich  wonderful  black  rims  as  they  letters 
had — half  an  inch  wide,  at  the  very  least" 

"  Too  much,"  said  John  Smith.  "  In  short,  'tis  out  of 
the  question  that  a  human  being  can  be  so  mournful  as 
black  edges  half  an  inch  wide.  I'm  sure  people  don't  feel 
more  than  a  very  narrow  strip  when  they  feels  most  of  all." 

"  And  there  are  two  little  girls,  are  there  not  ? "  iaid 
Stephen. 

"  Nice  clane  little  girls — left  motherless  now." 

"  They  used  to  come  to  Parson  Swancourt's  to  play  with 
Miss  Elfride  when  I  were  there,"  said  William  Worm.  "  Ah, 
they  did  so's  !  "  The  latter  sentence  was  introduced  to  add 
the  necessary  melancholy  to  a  remark  which,  intrinsically, 
could  hardly  be  made  to  possess  enough  for  the  occasion. 
"  Yes,"  continued  Worm,  "  they'd  run  up  stairs,  they'd  run 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUl^  EYES, 


25S 


down  ;  flitting  about  with  her  everywhere.     Very  fond  of 
her,  they  were.     Ah,  well !  " 

"  Fonder  than  ever  they  were  of  their  mother,  so  'tis 
said  here  and  there,"  added  a  laborer. 

"  Well,  you  see,  'tis  natural.  Lady  Luxellian  stood 
aloof  from  'em  so — was  so  drowsy-like,  that  they  couldn't  love 
her  in  the  jolly-companion  way  children  want  to  like  folks. 
Only  last  winter  I  seed  Miss  Elfride  talking  to  my  lady  and 
the  two  children,  and  Miss  Elfride  wiped  their  noses  for  ''era 
so  careful — my  lady  never  once  seeing  that  it  wanted  doing  \ 
and,  naturally,  children  take  to  people  that's  their  best 
friend." 

"  Be  as  'twill,  the  woman  is  dead  and  gone,  and  we 
must  make  a  place  for  her,"  said  John.  "  Come,  lads, 
drink  up  your  ale,  and  we'll  just  rid  this  corner,  so  as  to 
have  all  clear  for  beginning  at  the  wall  as  soon  as  'tis  light 
to-morrow." 

Stephen  then  asked  where  Lady  Luxellian  was  to  lie. 

"  Here,"  said  his  father.  "  We  are  going  to  set  back 
this  wall  and  make  a  recess  ;  and  'tis  enough  for  us  to  do  be- 
fore the  funeral.  When  my  lord's  mother  died,  she  said, 
'  John,  the  place  must  be  enlarged  before  another  can  be 
put  in.'  But  'a  never  expected  'twould  be  wanted  so  soon. 
Better  move  Lord  George  first,  I  suppose,  Simeon  ?  " 

He  pointed  with  his  foot  to  a  heavy  coffin,  covered  with 
what  had  originally  been  red  velvet,  the  color  of  which 
could  only  just  be  distinguished  now. 

"Just  as  ye  think  best,  Master  John,"  replied  the  shriv- 
elled old  mason,  "  Ah,  poor  Lord  George  !  "  he  continued, 
looking  contemplatively  at  the  huge  coffin  ;  "  he  and  I  were 
as  bitter  enemies  once  as  any  could  be  when  one  is  a  lord 
and  t'other  only  a  mortal  man.  Poor  fellow!  He'd  clap 
his  hand  upon  ray  shoulder  and  cuss  rae  as  familiar  and 
neighborly  as  if  he'd  been  a  common  equal.  Ay,  'a  cussed 
me  up  hill  and  'a  cussed  me  down  ;  and  then  'a  would  rave 
out  again,  and  the  goold  clamps  of  his  fine  teeth  would 
glisten  in  the  sun,  like  fetters  of  brass,  while  I,  being  a 
small  man  and  poor,  was  fain  to  say  nothing  at  all.  Such 
a  strappen  fine  gentleman  as  he  was  too.  Yes,  I  rather  like 
en  sometimes.  But  once  now  and  then,  when  1  looked  at 
his  towering  height,  I'd  think  it  in  secret,   '  What  a  weight 


256  ^  P^^^  0^  BLUE  EYES, 

you'll  be,  my  lord,  for  our  arms  to  lower  under  the  aisle  of 
Endelslow  church  some  day  ! '  " 

"  And  was  he  ? "  inquired  a  young  laborer. 

"  He  was.  He  was  five  hundred-weight  if  'a  were  a 
pound.  What  with  his  lead,  and  his  oak,  and  his  clamps, 
and  his  one  thing  and  t'other  "—here  the  ancient  man 
slapped  his  hand  upon  the  cover  with  a  force  that  caused  a 
rattle  inside — "  he  half  broke  my  back  when  I  took  his  feet 
to  lower  en  down  the  steps  there.  '  Ah,'  saith  I  to  John 
there — didn't  I,  John? — '  that  ever  one  man's  vanity  should 
be  such  a  weight  upon  another  man  ! '  But  there,  I  liked 
my  Lord  George  sometimes." 

"  'Tis  a  thought  to  look  at,"  said  another,  "  that  while 
they  be  all  here  under  one  roof,  a  snug  and  united  family 
of  Luxellians,  they  be  really  scattered  miles  away  from  one 
another  in  the  form  of  good  sheep  and  wicked  goats, 
isn't  it  ? " 

"  True ;  'tis  a  thought  to  look  at." 

"  And  that  one,  if  he's  gone  upward,  don't  know  what 
his  wife  is  doing  no  more  than  the  man  in  the  moon  if 
she's  gone  downward.  And  that  some  unfortunate  one  in 
the  hot  place  is  hollering  across  to  a  lucky  one  up  in  the 
clouds,  and  quite  forgetting  their  bodies  be  boxed  close  to- 
gether all  the  time." 

"  Ay,  'tis  a  thought  to  look  at,  too,  that  I  ca-n  say  '  Hul- 
lo ! '  close  to  fiery  Lord  George,  and  'a  can't  hear  me." 

"  And  that  1  be  eating  a  onion  close  to  dainty  Lady 
Jane's  nose,  and  she  can't  smell  me." 

"What  do  'em  put  all  their  heads  one  way  for?"  in- 
quired a  young  man. 

"  Because  'tis  churchyard  law,  you  simple.  The  law  of 
the  living  is,  that  a  man' shall  be  upright ;  and  the  law  of 
the  dead  is,  that  a  man  shall  be  east  and  west.  Every 
state  of  society  have  its  laws." 

"  We  must  break  the  law  wi'  a  few  of  the  poor  souls, 
however.     Come,  buckle  to,"  said  the  master-mason. 

And  they  set  to  work  anew. 

The  order  of  interment  could  be  distinctly  traced  by 
observing  the  appearance  of  the  coffins  as  they  lay  piled 
around.  On  those  which  had  been  standing  there  but  a 
generation  or  two  the  trappings  still  remained.     Those  of 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES. 


257 


an  earlier  period  showed  bare  wood,  with  a  few  tattered 
rags  dangling  therefrom.  Earlier  still,  the  wood  lay  in 
fragments  on  the  floor  of  the  niche,  and  the  coffin  consist- 
ed of  naked  lead  alone;  while  in  the  case  of  the  very  old- 
est, even  the  lead  was  bulging  and  cracking  in  pieces, 
revealing  to  the  curious  eye  a  heap  of  dust  within.  The 
shields  upon  many  were  quite  loose,  and  removable  by  the 
hand,  their  lustreless  surfaces  still  indistinctly  exhibiting 
the  name  and  title  of  the  deceased. 

Overhead  the  groins  and  concavities  of  the  arches  curv- 
ed in  all  directions,  dropping  low  towards  the  walls,  where 
the  height  was  no  more  than  sufficient  to  enable  a  person 
to  stand  upright. 

The  body  of  George  the  fourteenth  baron,  together 
with  two  or  three  others,  all  of  more  recent  date  than  the 
great  bulk  of  coffins  piled  there,  had,  for  want  of  room, 
been  placed  at  the  end  of  the  vault  on  tressels,  and  not  in 
niches  like  the  others.  These  it  was  necessary  to  remove, 
to  form  behind  them  the  chamber  in  which  they  were  ulti- 
mately to  be  deposited.  Stephen,  finding  the  place  and 
proceedings  in  keeping  with  the  sombre  colors  of  his  mind, 
waited  there  still. 

"  Simeon,  I  suppose  you  can  mind  poor  Lady  Elfride, 
and  how  she  ran  away  with  the  actor?"  said  John  Smith, 
after  a  while.  "  I  think  it  fell  upon  the  time  my  father  was 
sexton  here.     Let  us  see — where  is  she  ? " 

"  Here  somewhere,"  returned  Simeon,  looking  round 
him.  ''  Why,  I've  got  my  arms  round  the  very  woman  at 
this  moment."  He  lowered  the  end  of  the  coffin  he  was 
holding,  wiped  his  face,  and  throwing  a  morsel  of  rotten 
wood  upon  another  as  an  indicator,  continued :  "  That's 
her  husband,  there.  They  were  as  fair  a  couple  as  you 
should  see  anywhere  round  about;  and  a  good-hearted 
pair  likewise.  Ay,  I  can  mind  it,  though  I  was  but  a  chiel 
at  the  time.  She  fell  in  love  with  this  young  man  of  hers, 
and  their  banns  were  asked  in  some  church  in  London  ; 
and  the  old  lord  her  father  actually  heard  'em  asked  the 
three  times,  and  didn't  notice  her  name,  being  gabbled  on 
wi'  a  host  of  others.  When  she  had  married  she  told  her 
father,  and  'a  fleed  into  a  monstrous  rage,  and  said  she 
shouldn'  hae  a   farthing.      Lady   Elfride    said    she    didn't 


258  ^  P^^^  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

think  of  wishing  it ;  if  he'd  forgie  her  'twas  all  she  asked, 
and  as  for  a  living,  she  was  content  to  play  plays  with  her 
husband.  This  frightened  the  old  lord,  and  'a  gie'd  'em  a 
house  to  live  in,  and  a  great  garden,  and  a  little  field  or 
two,  and  a  carriage,  and  a  good-few  guineas.  Well,  the 
poor  thing  died  at  her  first  gossiping,  and  her  husband — 
who  was  as  tender-hearted  a  man  as  ever  eat  meat,  and 
would  have  died  for  her — went  wild  in  his  mind,  and  broke 
his  heart  (so  'twas  said).  Anyhow,  they  were  buried  the 
same  day — father  and  mother — but  the  baby  lived.  Ay, 
my  lord's  family  made  much  of  that  man  then,  and  put 
him  here  with  his  wife,  and  there  in  the  corner  the  man  is 
now.  The  Sunday  after  there  was  a  funeral  sermon  :  the 
text  was,  '  Or  ever  the  silver  cord  be  loosed,  or  the  golden 
bowl  be  broken  ; '  and  when  'twas  preaching  the  men  drew 
their  hands  across  their  eyes  several  times,  and  every  wo- 
man cried  out  loud." 

"  And  what  became  of  the  baby  ?  "  said  Stephen,  who 
had  frequently  heard  portions  of  the  story. 

"  She  was  brought  up  by  her  grandmother,  and  a  pretty 
maid  she  were.  And  she  must  needs  run  away  with  the 
curate — parson  Swancourt  that  is  now.  Then  her  grand- 
mother died,  and  the  tide  and  everything  went  away  to  an- 
other branch  of  the  family  altogether.  Parson  Swancourt 
wasted  a  good  deal  of  his  wife's  money,  and  she  left  him 
Miss  Elfride.  That  trick  of  running  away  seems  to  be 
handed  down  in  families,  like  craziness  or  gout.  And  they 
two  women  be  as  like  as  peas." 

"  Which  two  ?  " 

'■'  Lady  Elfride  and  young  Miss  that's  alive  now.  The 
same  hair  and  eyes  :  but  Miss  Elfride's  mother  was  darker 
a  good  deal." 

"  Life's  a  strange  bubble,  ye  see,"  said  William  Worm 
musingly.  "  For  if  the  Lord's  anointment  had  descended 
upon  women  instead  of  men,  Miss  Elfride  would  be  Lord 
Luxellian — Lady,  I  mane.  But  as  it  is,  the  blood  is  run 
out,  and  she's  nothing  to  the  Luxellian  family  by  law,  what- 
ever she  may  be  by  Gospel." 

"I  used  to  fancy,'' said  Simeon,  "when  I  seed  Miss 
Elfi  ide  hugging  the  little  ladyships,  that  there  was  a  likenese ;, 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


259 


but  I  suppose  'twas  only  my  dream,  for  years  must  have 
altered  the  old  family  shape." 

"  And  now  we'll  move  these  two,  and  home-along,"  in- 
terposed John  Smith,  reviving,  as  became  a  master,  the 
spirit  of  labor,  which  had  showed  unmistakable  signs  of  be- 
ing nearly  vanquished  by  the  spirit  of  chat.  ''  The"flagon 
of  ale  we  don't  want  we'll  let  bide  here  till  to-morrow  ;  none 
of  the  poor  souls  will  touch  it  'a  b'lieve." 

So  the  evening's  work  was  concluded,  and  the  party 
withdrew  from  the  abode  of  the  quiet  dead,  closing  the 
great  iron  door,  and  shooting  the  lock  loudly  into  the  huge 
copper  staple — an  incongruous  act  of  imprisonment  towards 
those  who  had  no  dreams  of  escape. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"HOW   SHOULD   I   GREET  THEE?" 

LOVE  frequently  dies  of  time  alone — much  more  fre- 
quently of  displacement. 

With  Elfride  Swancourt,  a  powerful  reason  why  the  dis- 
placement was  successful  was  that  the  new-comer  was  a 
greater  man  than  the  first.  By  the  side  of  the  instructive 
and  piquant  snubbings  she  received  from  Knight,  Stephen's 
general  agreeableness  seemed  watery ;  by  ^  the  side  of 
Knight's  spare  love-making,  Stephen's  continual  outflow 
seemed  lackadaisical.  She  had  begun  to  sigh  for  somebody 
farther  on  in  manhness.  Stephen  was  hardly  enough  of  a 
man. 

Perhaps  there  was  a  proneness  to  inconstancy  in  her  na- 
ture— a  nature,  to  those  who  contemplate  it  from  a  stand- 
Doint  beyond  the  influence  o(  that  inconstancy,  the  most 
exquisite  of  all  in  its  plasticity  and  ready  sympathies. 
Partly,  too,  Stephen's  failure  to  make  his  hold  on  her  heart 
a  permanent  one  was  his  too  timid  habit  of  dispraising  him- 
self beside  her — a  peculiarity  which,  exercised  towards  sen- 
sible men,  stirs  a  kindly  chord  of  attachment  that  a  marked 
assertiveness  would  leave  untouched,  but  inevitably  leading 
the  most  sensible  woman  in  the  world  to  undervalue  him 
who  practices  it.  Directly  domineering  ceases  in  the  man, 
snubbing  begins  in  the  woman ;  the  trite  but  no  less  unfor- 
tunate fact  being  that  the  gentler  creature  never  has  the  ca- 
pacity to  appreciate  fair  treatment  from  her  natural  comple- 
ment. The  abiding  perception  of  the  position  of  Stephen's 
parents  had,  of  course,  a  little  to  do  with  Elfride's  renunci- 
ation. To  girls  like  her,  poverty  is  not,  as  to  the  more 
fibrous  masses  of  humanity,  a  sin  in  itself;  but  it  is  a  sin, 
because  graceful  and  dainty  manners  seldom  abide  in  such 
an  atmosphere.     No  woman  of  refinement  can  be  thorough- 


A  FAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES,  26 1 

ly  taught  that  a  genius  may  wear  a  smock-frock,  and  an  ad- 
mittedly common  man  in  one  is  but  a  worm  to  her  eyes. 
John  Smith's  rough  hands  and  clothes,  his  wife's  dialect, 
the  necessary  narrowness  of  their  ways,  being  constantly 
under  Elfride's  notice  were  not  without  their  effect. 

On  reaching  home  after  the  perilous  adventure  by  the 
sea-shore,  Knight  had  felt  unwell,  and  retired  almost  imme- 
diately. The  young  lady  who  had  so  materially  assisted 
him  had  done  the  same,  but  she  reappeared,  properly 
clothed,  about  five  o'clock.  She  wandered  restlessly  about 
the  house,  but  not  on  account  of  their  joint  narrow  escape 
from  death.  The  storm  vv'hich  had  torn  the  tree  had  merely 
bowed  the  reed,  and  with  the  deliverance  of  Knight  all  deep 
thought  of  the  accident  had  left  her.  The  mutual  avowal 
which  it  had  been  the  means  of  precipitating  occupied  a  far 
longer  length  of  her  meditations. 

Eltnde's  restlessness  was  on  account  of  her  miserable 
promise  to  meet  Stephen,  which  returned  like  a  spectre 
again  and  again.  The  perception  of  his  littleness  beside 
Knight  grew  upon  her  alarmingly.  She  now  thought  how 
sound  had  been  her  father's  advice  to  her  to  give  him  up, 
and  was  as  passionately  desirous  of  following  it  as  she  had 
hitherto  been  adverse.  Perhaps  there  is  nothing  more  hard- 
ening to  the  tone  of  young  minds  than  thus  discovering 
how  their  dearest  and  strongest  v/ishes  become  gradually 
attuned  by  Time  the  Cynic  to  the  very  note  of  some  selfish 
policy  which  at  an  earlier  time  they  despised. 

The  hour  of  appointment  came,  and  with  it  a  crisis  ;  and 
with  the  crisis  a  collapse. 

"  God  forgive  me — I  can't  meet  Stephen  ! "  she  ex- 
claimed to  herself  "I  don't  love  him  less,  but  I  love  Mr. 
Knight  more." 

Ye-b:  she  would  save  herself  from  a  man  not  fit  for  her 
—in  spite  of  vows.  She  would  obey  her  father,  and  have 
no  more  to  do  with  Stephen  Smith.  Thus  the  fickle  resolve 
showed  signs  of  assuming  the  complexion  of  a  virtue. 

The  following  days  were  passed  without  any  definite 
avowal  from  Knight's  lips.  Such  solitary  walks  and  scenes 
as  that  witnessed  by  Smith  in  the  summer-house  were  fre- 
quent, but  he  courted  her  so  intangibly,  that  to  any  but 
such  a  delicate  perception  as  Elfride's  it  would  have  ap- 


262  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

peared  no  courtship  at  all.  The  time  now  really  began  to 
be  sweet  with  her.  She  dismissed  the  sense  of  sin  in  her 
past  actions,  and  was  absorbed  in  the  intoxication  of  the 
moment.  The  fact  that  Knight  made  no  actual  declaration 
was  no  drawback.  Knowing  since  the  betrayal  of  his  sen- 
timents that  love  for  her  really  existed,  she  preferred  it  for 
the  present  in  its  form  of  essence,  and  was  willing  to  avoid 
for  a  while  the  grosser  medium  of  words.  Their  feelings 
having  been  forced  to  a  rather  premature  demonstration,  a 
reaction  was  indulged  in  by  both. 

But  no  sooner  had  she  got  rid  of  her  troubled  conscience 
on  the  matter  of  faithlessness  than  a  new  anxiety  confronted 
her.  It  was  lest  Knight  should  accidentally  meet  Stephen 
in  the  parish,  and  that  herself  should  be  the  subject  of  dis- 
course. 

Elfride,  learning  Knight  more  thoroughly,  perceived  that, 
far  from  having  a  notion  of  Stephen's  precedence,  he  had 
no  idea  that  she  had  ever  been  wooed  before  by  anybody. 
On  ordinary  occasions  she  had  a  tongue  so  frank  as  to  show 
her  whole  mind,  and  a  mind  so  straightforward  as  to  reveal 
her  heart  to  its  innermost  shrine.  But  the  time  for  a  change 
had  come.  She  never  alluded  to  even  a  knowledge  of 
Knight's  friend.  When  women  are  secret  they  are  secret 
indeed ;  and  more  often  than  not  they  only  begin  to  be 
secret  with  the  advent  of  a  second  lover. 

The  elopement  was  now  a  spectre  worse  than  the  first, 
and,  Uke  the  Spirit  in  Glenfinlas,  it  waxed  taller  with  every 
attempt  to  lay  it.  Her  natural  honesty  invited  her  to  confide 
in  Knight  and  trust  to  his  generosity  for  forgiveness :  she 
knew  also  that  as  mere  policy  it  would  be  better  to  tell 
him  early  if  he  was  to  be  told  at  all.  The  longer  her  con- 
cealment the  more  difficult  would  be  the  revelation.  But 
she  put  it  off.  The  intense  fear  which  accompanies  intense 
love  in  young  women  was  too  strong  to  allow  the  exercise 
of  a  moral  quality  antagonistic  to  itself: 

"  Where  love  is  great,  the  littlest  doubts  are  fear ; 
Where  little  fears  grow  great,  great  love  grows  there." 

The  match  was  looked  upon  as  made  by  her  father  and 
mother.  The  vicar  remembered  her  promise  to  reveal  the 
meaning  of  the  telegram  she  had  received,  and  two  days 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  263 

after  the  scene  in  the  summer-house,  asked  her  pointedly. 
t>he  was  frank  with  him  now. 

"  I  had  been  corresponding  with  Stephen  Smith  ever 
since  he  left  England,  till  lately." 

"  What !  "  cried  the  vicar,  aghast ;  "  under  the  eyes  of 
Mr.  Knight,  too  ?  " 

"  No  ;  when  I  found  I  cared  most  for  Mr.  Knight,  I 
obeyed  you." 

"  You  were  very  kind,  I'm  sure.  When  did  you  begin 
to  like  Mr.  Knight  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  that  that  is  a  pertinent  question,  papa  j 
the  telegram  was  from  the  shipping- agent,  and  was  not  sent 
at  my  request.  It  announced  the  arrival  of  the  vessel 
bringing  him  home." 

"  Home  !     What,  is  he  here  > " 

"Yes;  in  the  village,  I  believe." 

"  Has  he  tried  to  see  you  ? " 

"  Only  by  fair  means.  But  don't,  papa,  question  me  so  ! 
it  is  torture." 

"  I  will  only  say  one  word  more,"  he  replied.  "  Have 
you  met  him  ?  " 

"  I  have  not.  I  can  assure  you  that  at  the  present  mo- 
ment there  is  no  more  of  an  understanding  between  me  and 
the  young  man  you  so  much  disliked  than  between  him  and 
you.  You  told  me  to  forget  him ;  and  I  have  forgotten 
him." 

"  O,  well ;  though  you  did  not  obey  me  in  the  letter,  you 
are  a  good  girl,  Elfride,  in  obeying  me  at  last." 

"Don't  call  me  'good,'  papa,"  she  said  bitterly  ;  "  you 
don't  know — and  the  less  said  about  some  things  the  better. 
Remember,  Mr.  Knight  knows  nothing  about  the  other. 
O,  how  wrong  it  all  is  !  I  don't  know  what  I  am  coming  to." 

"  As  matters  stand,  I  should  be  inclined  jto  tell  him  ;  or, 
at  any  rate,  1  should  not  alarm  myself  about  his  knowmg. 
He  found  out  the  other  day  that  this  was  the  parish  young 
Smith's  father  lives  in — what  puts  you  in  such  a  flurry  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say  ;  but  promise — pray  don't  let  him  know  ; 
it  would  be  my  ruin." 

"  Pooh,  child.  Knight  is  a  good  fellow  and  a  clever 
man  ;  but  at  the  same  time  it  does  not  escape  my  percep- 
tions that  he  is  no  great^catch  for  you.     Men  of  his  turn  of 


264  ^  ^^^^  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

mind  are  nothing  so  wonderful  in  the  way  of  husbands.  If 
you  had  chosen  to  wait,  you  might  have  mated  with  a  much 
wealthier  man.  But  remember,  I  have  not  a  word  to  say 
against  your  having  him  if  you  like  him.  Charlotte  is  de- 
lighted, as  you  know." 

"  Well,  papa,"  she  said,  smiling  hopefully  through  a  sigh, 
"  it  is  nice  to  feel  that  in  giving  way  to — to  caring  for  him, 
I  have  pleased  my  family.  But  I  am  not  good  ;  O  no,  I  am 
very  far  from  that." 

"None  of  us  are  good,  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  said  her 
father  blandly  ;  "  but  girls  have  a  chartered  right  to  change 
their  minds,  you  know.  It  has  been  recognized  by  poets 
from  time  immemorial.  Catullus  says,  '  Mulier  cupido 
quod  dicit  amanti,  in  vento — '  What  a  memory  mine  is  1 
However,  the  passage  is,  that  a  woman's  words  to  a  lover 
are  as  a  matter  of  couise  written  only  on  wind  and  water. 
Now  don't  be  troubled  about  that,  Elfride." 

"  Ah,  yoii  don't  know." 

They  had  been  standing  on  the  lawn,  and  Knight  was 
now  seen  lingering  some  way  down  a  winding  walk.  When 
Elfride  met  him,  it  was  with  a  much  greater  lightness  of 
heart ;  things  were  more  straight-forward  now.  The  re- 
sponsibility of  her  fickleness  seemed  partly  shifted  from  her 
own  shoulders  to  her  father's.     Still,  not  entirely  so. 

"  Ah,  could  he  have  known  how  far  I  went  with  Ste- 
phen, and  yet  have  said  the  same,  how  much  happier  I 
should  be  ! "     That  was  her  prevailing  thought. 

In  the  afternoon  the  lovers  went  out  together  on  horse- 
back. 

Not  wishing  to  be  observed,  by  reason  of  the  late  death 
of  Lady  Luxellian,  whose  funeral  had  taken  place  very  pri- 
vately on  the  previous  day,  they  yet  found  it  necessary  to 
pass  East  Endelstow  church. 

The  steps  to  the  vault,  as  has  been  stated,  were  on  the 
outside  of  the  building,  immediately  under  the  aisle  wall. 
Being  on  horseback,  both  Knight  and  Elfride  could  over- 
look the  shrubs  which  screened  the  churchyard. 

"Look,  the  vault  seems  still  to  be  open,"  said  Knight. 

"  Yes,  it  is  open,"  she  answered. 

"  Who  is  that  man  close  by  it  ?  The  mason,  I  sup* 
pose  ? "  0 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES,  26$ 

«  Yes." 

"  I  wonder  if  it  is  John  Smith,  Stephen's  father." 

"  1  believe  it  is,"  said  Eifride,  with  apprehension. 

"  Dear  me,  can  it  be?  I  should  like  to  inquire  how  his 
son,  my  truant  protege,  is  going  on.  And  from  your  fath- 
er's description  of  the  vault,  the  interior  must  be  interest- 
ing ;  suppose  we  go  in." 

"  Had  we  better,  do  you  think  ?  May  not  Lord  Luxei- 
lian  be  there  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  at  all  likely." 

Eifride  then  assented,  since  she  could  do  nothing  else. 
Her  heart,  which  at  first  had  quailed  in  consternation,  re- 
covered itself  when  she  considered  the  character  of  John 
Smith ;  a  quiet,  unassuming  man,  he  would  be  sure  to  act 
towards  her  as  before  those  love  passages  with  his  son, 
which  might  have  given  a  more  pretentious  mechanic  airs. 
So  without  much  alarm,  she  took  Knight's  arm  after  dis- 
mounting, and  went  with  him  between  and  over  the  graves. 
The  master- mason  recognized  her  as  she  approached,  and, 
as  usual,  lifted  his  hat  respectfully. 

"  I  know  you  to  be  Mr.  Smith,  my  former  friend  Ste- 
phen's father,"  said  Knight,  directly  he  had  scanned  the 
embrowned  and  ruddy  features  of  John. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  believe  I  be." 

"  How  is  your  son  now .?  I  have  only  once  heard  from 
him  since  he  went  to  India.  I  dare  say  you  have  heard  him 
speak  of  me — Mr.  Knight,  who  became  acquainted  with 
him  some  years  ago  in  Exeter." 

"  Ay,  that  I  have.  Stephen  is  very  well,  thank  you,  sir, 
and  he's  in  England  ;  in  fact,  he's  at  home.  In  short,  sir, he's 
down  in  the  vault  there,  a-looking  at  the  departed  coffins," 

Elfride's  heart  fluttered  like  an  aspen-leaf 

Knight  looked  amazed.  ''Well,  that  is  extraordinary," 
he  murmured.     "  Did  he  know  I  was  in  the  parish  ?  " 

"  I  really  can't  say,  sir,"  said  John,  wishing  himself  out 
of  the  entanglement  he  rather  suspected  than  thoroughly 
understood. 

"  Would  it  be  considered  an  intrusion  by  the  family  if 
we  went  into  the  vault  .'*  " 

"  O,  bless  ye,  no  sir  ;  scores  of  folk  have  been  stepping 
down.     'Tis  left  open  a-purpose." 


Z66  *4  FA//?  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

"We  will  go  down,  Elfride." 

"  I  am  afraid  the  air  is  close,"  she  said  appealingly. 

"  O  no,  ma'am,"  said  John.  "  We  whitewashed  the  wails 
and  arches  the  day  'twas  opened,  as  we  always  do,  and 
again  on  the  morning  of  the  funeral ;  the  pi  ice  is  as  sweet 
as  a  granary." 

"Then  I  should  like  you  to  accompany  me,  Elfie  ;  hav- 
ing originally  sprung  from  the  family  too." 

"  I  don't  like  going  where  Death  is  so  emphatically  pres- 
ent. I'll  stay  by  the  horses  while  you  go  in  :  they  may  get 
loose." 

"  What  nonsense  !  I  had  no  idea  your  sentiments  were 
so  flimsily  formed  as  to  be  perturbed  by  a  few  remnants  of 
mortality ;  but  stay  out,  if  you  are  so  afraid,  by  all  means." 

"  O  no,  I  am  not  afraid  ;  don't  say  that." 

She  held  miserably  to  his  arm,  thinking  that,  perhaps, 
the  revelation  might  as  well  come  at  once  as  ten  minutes 
later,  for  Stephen  would  be  sure  to  accompany  his  friend 
to  his  horse. 

At  first,  the  gloom  of  the  vault,  which  was  lighted  only 
by  a  couple  oi  tapers,  was  too  great  to  admit  of  their  see- 
ing anything  distinctly  ;  but  with  a  farther  advance.  Knight 
discerned,  in  front  of  the  black  masses  lining  the  walls,  a 
young  man  standing,  and  writing  in  a  pocket-book 

Knight  said  one  word  :  "  Stephen  !  " 

Stephen  Smith,  not  being  in  such  absolute  ignorance 
of  Knight's  whereabouts  as  Knight  had  been  of  Smith's, 
instantly  recognized  his  friend,  and  knew  by  rote  the  out- 
lines of  the  fair  woman  standing  behind  him. 

Stephen  came  forward  and  shook  him  by  the  hand, 
without  speaking. 

•'  Why  have  you  not  written,  my  boy  ? "  said  Knight, 
without  in  any  way  signifying  Elfride's  presence  to  Ste- 
phen. To  the  essayist.  Smith  was  still  the  country  lad 
whom  he  had  patronized  and  tended  ;  one  to  whom  the 
formal  presentation  of  a  lady  betrothed  to  himself  would 
have  seemed  incongruous  and  absurd. 

"  Why  haven't  you  written  to  me  1 "  said  Stephen. 

"  Ah,  yes.  Why  haven't  I  ?  why  haven't  we  ?  That's 
always  the  query  which  we  cannot  clearly  answer  without 
an  unsatisfactory  sense  of  inadequacy.     However,  I   have 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES,  267 

not  forgotten  you,  Smith.  And  now  we  have  met ;  and  we 
must  meet  again,  and  have  a  longer  chat  than  this  can  con- 
veniently be.  I  must  know  all  you  have  been  doing;  that 
you  have  thriven,  I  know,  and  you  must  teach  me  the 
way." 

Elfride  stood  in  the  background.  Stephen  had  read 
the  position  at  a  glance,  and  immediately  guessed  that  she 
had  never  mentioned  his  name  to  Knight.  His  tact  in 
avoiding  catastrophes  was  the  chief  quality  which  made 
him  intellectually  respectable,  in  which  quality  he  far  trans- 
cended Knight ;  and  he  decided  that  a  tranquil  issue  out 
of  the  encounter,  without  any  harrowing  of  the  feelings  of 
either  Knight  or  Elfride,  was  to  be  attempted  if  possible. 
His  old  sense  of  indebtedness  to  Knight  had  never  wholly 
forsaken  him  ;  his  love  for  Elfride  was  generous  now. 

As  far  as  he  dared  look  at  her  movements,  he  saw  that 
her  bearing  towards  him  would  be  dictated  by  his  own  to- 
wards her  j  and  if  he  acted  as  a  stranger,  she  would  do 
likewise  as  a  means  of  deliverance.  Circumstances  favor- 
ing this  course,  it  was  desirable  also  to  be  rather  reserved 
towards  Knight,  to  shorten  the  meeting  as  much  as  possi- 
ble. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  my  time  is  almost  too  short  to  allow 
even  of  such  a  pleasure,"  he  said.  "  I  leave  here  to-mor- 
row. And  until  I  return  to  India,  which  will  be  in  a  fort- 
night, I  shall  have  hardly  a  moment  to  spare." 

Knight's  disappointed  and  dissatisfied  look  at  this  re- 
ply sent  a  pang  through  Stephen  as  great  as  any  he  had 
felt  at  the  sight  of  Elfride.  The  words  about  shortness  of 
time  were  literally  true,  but  their  tone  was  far  from  being 
so.  He  would  have  been  gratilied  to  talk  with  Knight  as 
in  past  times,  and  saw  as  a  dead  loss  to  himself  that,  to 
save  the  woman  who  cared  nothing  for  him,  he  was  delib- 
erately throwing  away  his  friend. 

"  O,  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,''  said  Knight,  in  a  changed 
tone.  "  But  of  course,  if  you  have  weighty  concerns  to  at- 
tend to,  they  must  not  be  neglected.  And  if  this  is  to  be 
our  first  and  last  meeting,  let  me  say  that  I  wish  you  suc- 
cess with  all  my  heart."  Knight's  warmth  revived  towards 
the  end  ;  the  solemn  impressions  he  was  beginning  to  re- 
ceive  from   the  scene  around   them   abstracting  from  his 


268  ^  PAI^  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

heart  as  a  puerility  any  momentary  vexation  at  words.  "  It 
is  a  strange  place  for  us  to  meet  in,"  he  continued,  looking 
round  the  vault. 

Stephen  briefly  as&ented,  and  there  was  a  silence.  The 
blackened  coffins  were  now  revealed  more  clearly  than  at 
first,  the  whitened  walls  and  arches  throwing  them  forward 
in  strong  relief.  It  was  a  scene  which  was  remembered  by 
all  three  as  an  indelible  mark  in  their  history.  Knight, 
with  an  abstracted  face,  was  standing  between  his  compan- 
ions, though  a  little  in  advance  of  them,  Elfride  being  on 
his  right  hand,  and  Stephen  Smith  on  his  left.  The  white 
daylight  on  his  right  side  gleamed  faintly  in,  and  was  toned 
to  a  blueness  by  contrast  with  the  yellow  rays  from  the 
candle  against  the  wall.  Elfride,  timidly  shrinking  back, 
and  nearest  the  entrance,  received  most  of  the  light  there- 
from, while  Stephen  was  entirely  in  candle-light,  and  to 
him  the  spot  of  outer  sky  visible  above  the  steps  was  as  a 
steely  blue  patch,  and  nothing  more. 

"  I  have  been  here  two  or  three  times  since  it  was 
opened,"  said  Stephen.  "  My  father  was  engaged  in  the 
work,  you  know." 

"Yes.  What  are  you  doing?"  Knight  inquired,  look- 
ing at  the  note-book  and  pencil  Stephen  held  in  his  hand. 

"  I  have  been  sketching  a  few  details  in  the  church,  and 
since  then  I  have  been  copying  the  names  from  some  of 
the  coffins  here.  Before  I  left  England,  I  used  to  do  a 
good  deal  of  this  sort  of  thing." 

"  Yes ;  of  course.  Ah,  that's  poor  Lady  Luxellian,  I 
suppose."  Knight  pointed  to  a  coffin  of  light  satin-wood, 
which  stood  on  the  stone  sleepers  in  the  new  niche.  "  And 
the  remainder  of  the  family  are  on  this  side.  Who  are 
those  two,  so  snug  and  close  together  ? " 

Stephen's  voice  altered  slightly  as  he  replied  :  "  That's 
Lady  Elfride  Kingsmore — born  Luxellian,  and  that  is  Ar- 
thur, her  husband.  I  have  heard  my  father  say  that  they 
— he — ran  away  with  her,  and  married  her  against  the  wish 
of  her  parents." 

"  Then  I  imagine  this  to  be  where  you  got  your  Chris- 
tian name,  Miss  Swancourt .?  "  said  Knight,  turning  to  her. 
"  I  think  you  told  me  it  was  three  or  four  generations  ago 
that  your  family  branched  off  from  the  Luxellians?" 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


269 


"  She  was  my  grandmother,"  said  Elfride,  vainly  en- 
deavoring to  moisten  her  dry  lips  before  she  spoke.  El- 
fride had  then  the  conscience-stricken  look  of  Guido's 
Magdalen,  rendered  upon  a  more  childlike  form.  She 
kept  her  face  partially  away  from  Knight  and  Stephen,  and 
set  her  eyes  upon  the  sky  visible  outside,  as  if  her  salva- 
tion depended  upon  quickly  reaching  it.  Her  left  hand 
rested  lightly  within  Knight's  arm,  half  withdrawn,  from  a 
sense  of  shame  at  claiming  him  before  her  old  lover,  yet 
unwilling  to  renounce  him;  so  that  her  glove  merely 
touched  his  sleeve.  "  Can  one  be  pardoned,  and  retain 
the  offence  ? "  said  Elfride's  heart  then. 

Conversation  seemed  to  have  no  self-sustaining  power, 
and  went  on  in  the  shape  of  disjointed  remarks.  "  One's 
mind  gets  thronged  with  thoughts  while  standing  so  sol- 
emnly here,"  Knight  said,  in  a  measured  quiet  voice. 
"  How  much  has  been  said  on  death  from  time  to  time ! 
how  much  we  ourselves  can  think  upon  it !  We  may  fancy 
each  of  these  who  lie  here  saying : 

*  For  Thou,  to  make  my  fall  more  great, 
Didst  lift  me  up  on  high.' 

What  comes  next,  Elfride?  It  is  the  Hundred-and 
second  Psalm  I  am  thinking  of." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it,"  she  murmured,  and  went  on  in  a 
still  lower  voice,  seemingly  afraid  for  any  words  from  the 
emotional  side  of  her  nature  to  reach  Stephen  : 

"  •  My  days,  just  hastening  to  their  end. 
Are  like  an  evening  shade  ; 
My  beauty  doth,  like  withered  grass 
With  waning  lustre  fade.'  " 

"WelV'  said  Knight  musingly,  "let  us  leave  them. 
Such  occasions  as  these  seem  to  compel  us  to  roam  out- 
side ourselves,  far  away  from  the  fragile  frame  we  live  in, 
and  to  expand  till  our  perception  grows  so  vast  that  our 
physical  reality  bears  no  sort  of  proportion  to  it.  We  look 
back  upon  the  weak  and  minute  stem  on  which  this  lux- 
uriant growth  depends,  and  ask,  Can  it  be  possible  thai 
such  a  capacity  has  a  foundation  so  small  ?     Must  I  again 


270 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


return  to  my  daily  walk  in  that  narrow  cell,  a  human  body 
Vv'here  worldly  thoughts  can  torture  me?     Do  we  not?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Stephen  and  Elfride. 

*'  One  has  a  sense  of  wrong,  too,  that  such  an  apprecia- 
tive breadth  as  a  sentient  being  possesses  should  be  com- 
mitted to  the  frail  casket  of  a  body.  What  weakens  one's 
intentions  regarding  the  future  like  the  thought  of  this  ? 
However,  let  us  tune  ourselves  to  a  more  cheerful  chord, 
for  there's  a  great  deal  to  be  done  yet  by  us  all." 

As  Knight  meditatively  addressed  his  juniors  thus,  un- 
conscious of  the  deception  practiced,  for  different  reasons, 
by  the  severed  hearts  at  his  side,  and  of  the  scenes  that 
had  in  earlier  days  united  them,  each  one  felt  that  he  and 
she  did  not  gain  by  contrast  with  their  musing  mentor. 
Physically  not  so  handsome  as  either  the  youthful  archi- 
tect or  the  vicar's  daughter,  the  thoroughness  and  integrity 
of  Knight  illuminated  his  features  with  a  dignity  not  even 
incipient  in  the  other  two.  It  is  difficult  to  frame  rules 
which  shall  apply  to  both  sexes,  and  Elfride,  an  undeveloped 
girl,  can  hardly  be  laden  with  the  moral  responsibilities 
which  attach  to  a  man  under  like  circumstances.  The  charm 
of  woman,  too,  lies  partly  in  her  subtleness  in  matters  of 
love.  But  if  honesty  is  a  virtue  in  itself,  Elfride  having 
none  of  it  now,  seemed,  being  for  being,  scarcely  good 
enough  for  Knight.  Stephen,  though  deceptive  for  no 
unworthy  purpose,  was  deceptive  after  all ;  and  whatever 
good  results  grace  such  strategy  if  it  succeed,  it  seldom 
draws  admiration  when  it  fails. 

On  an  ordinary  occasion,  had  Knight  been  even  quite 
alone  with  Stephen,  he  would  hardly  have  alluded  to  his 
possible  relationship  to  Elfride.  But  moved  by  attendant 
circumstances,  KnigJit  was  impelled  to  be  confiding. 

"  Stephen,"  he  said,  "  this  lady  is  Miss  Svvancourt.  I 
am  staying  at  her  father's  house,  as  you  probably  know." 
He  stepped  a  few  paces  nearer  to  Smith,  and  said  in  a 
lower  tone :  "  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  we  are  engaged 
to  be  married." 

Low  as  the  words  had  been  spoken,  Elfride  had  heard 
them,  and  awaited  Stephen's  reply  in  breathless  silence,  if 
that  could  be  called  silence  where  Elfride's  dress,  at  eacU 
throb  of  her  heart,  shook  and  mdicated  it  like  a  pulse-glass, 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  2^1 

rustling  also  against  the  wall  in  reply  to  the  same  throb- 
bing. The  ray  of  daylight  which  reached  her  face  lent  it  a 
blue  pallor  in  comparison  with  those  of  the  other  two. 

"I  congratulate  you,"  Stephen  whispered;  and  said 
aloud,  "I  know  Miss  Swancourt — a  little.  You  must 
remember  that  my  father  is  a  parishioner  of  Mr.  Swan- 
court's." 

"  I  thought  you  might  possibly  not  have  lived  at  home 
since  they  have  been  here,"  said  Knight. 

"  I  have  never  lived  at  home,  certainly,  since  that  time." 

"  I  have  seen  Mr.  Smith,"  faltered  Elfride. 

*'Well,  there  is  no  excuse  for  me.  As  strangers  to 
each  other  I  ought,  I  suppose,  to  have  presented  you :  as 
acquaintances,  I  should  not  have  stood  so  persistently 
between  you.  But  the  fact  is,  Smith,  you  seem  a  boy  to 
me,  even  now." 

Stephen  appeared  to  have  a  more  than  previous  con- 
sciousness of  the  intense  cruelty  of  his  fate  at  the  present 
moment.  He  could  not  repress  the  words,  uttered  with  a 
faint  bitterness: 

"  You  should  have  said  that  I  seemed  still  the  rural 
mechanic's  son  I  am,  and  hence  an  unfit  subject  for  the 
ceremony  of  introductions." 

"  O,  no,  no  !  I  won't  have  that."  Knight  endeavored 
to  give  his  reply  a  laughing  tone  in  Elfride's  ears,  and  an 
earnestness  in  Stephen's :  in  both  which  efforts  he  signally 
failed,  and  produced  a  forced  speech  pleasant  to  neither. 
"  Well,  let  us  go  into  the  open  air  again  ;  Miss  Swancourt, 
,^ou  are  particularly  silent.  You  mustn't  mind  Smith.  I 
lave  known  him  for  years,  as  I  have  told  you." 

"  Yes,  you  have,"  she  said. 

"  To  think  she  has  never  mentioned  her  knowledge  of 
me!"  Smith  murmured,  and  thought  with  some  remorse 
how  much  her  conduct  resembled  his  own  on  his  first 
arrival  at  her  house  as  a  stranger  to  the  place. 

They  ascended  to  the  daylight,  Knight  taking  no 
farther  notice  of  Elfride's  manner,  which,  as  usual,  he 
attributed  to  the  natural  shyness  of  a  young  female  at 
being  discovered  walking  with  him  on  terms  which  left  not 
much  doubt  of  their  meaning.  Elfride  stepped  a  little  in 
advance,  and  passed  through  the  churchyard. 


272 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES. 


"  Vou  are  changed  very  considerably,  Smith,"  said 
Knight,  "  and  I  suppose  it  is  no  more  than  was  to  be 
expected.  However,  don't  imagine  that  I  shall  feel  any 
the  less  interest  in  you  and  your  fortunes  whenever  you 
care  to  confide  them  to  me.  I  have  not  forgotten  the 
attachment  you  spoke  of  as  your  reason  for  going  away  to 
India.  A  London  young  lady,  was  it  not?  I  hope  all  is 
prosperous  ? " 

"  No  :  the  match  is  broken  off." 

It  being  always  difficult  to  know  whether  to  express 
sorrow  or  gladness  under  such  circumstances — all  depend- 
ing upon  the  character  of  the  match — Knight  took  shelter 
in  the  safe  words  :  "I  trust  it  was  for  the  best." 

"  I  hope  it  was.  But  I  beg  that  you  will  not  press  me 
farther  :  no,  you  have  not  pressed  me — I  don't  mean  that 
— but  I  would  rather  not  speak  upon  the  subject." 

Knight  said  no  more,  and  they  followed  in  the  footsteps 
of  Elfride,  who  still  kept  some  paces  in  advanse,  and  had 
not  heard  Knight's  unconscious  allusion  to  her.  Stephen 
bade  him  adieu  at  the  churchyard-gate  without  going  out- 
side, and  watched  while  he  and  his  sweetheart  mounted 
their  horses. 

"Good  heavens,  Elfride,"  Knight  exclaimed,  "how 
pale  you  are  !  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  have  taken  you 
into  that  vault.     What  is  the  matter?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Elfride  faintly.  "I  shall  be  myself  in 
a  moment.  All  was  so  strange  and  unexpected  down 
there,  that  it  made  me  faint." 

"  I  thought  you  said  very  little.  Shall  I  get  some 
water  ? " 

"  No,  no." 

•'  Do  you  think  it  is  safe  for  you  to  mojint  ?  " 

"  Quite — indeed  it  is,"  she  said,  with  a  look  ot  appeal. 

"  Now  then — up  she  goes  !  "  whispered  Knight,  and 
lifted  her  tenderly  into  the  saddle. 

Her  old  lover  still  looked  on  at  the  performance  as  he 
leaned  over  the  gate  a  dozen  yards  off.  Once  in  the  saddle, 
and  having  a  firm  grip  of  the  reins,  she  turned  her  head  as 
if  by  a  resistless  fascination,  and  for  the  first  time  since  that 
memorable  parting  on  the  moor  outside  St.  Kirrs,  after  the 
passionate  attempt  at  marriage  with  him,  Elfride  looked  in 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES,  2/3 

the  face  of  the  young  man  she  first  had  loved.  He  was 
the  youth  who  had  called  her  his  inseparable  wife  many  a 
time,  and  whom  she  had  even  addressed  as  her  husband 
Their  eyes  met.  Measurement  of  life  should  be  propor- 
tioned rather  to  the  intensity  of  the  experience  therein  con- 
tained than  to  its  actual  length.  Their  glance,  but  a  mo- 
ment chronologically,  was  a  season  in  their  history.  To 
Elfride  the  intense  agony  of  reproach  in  Stephen's  eye  was 
a  nail  piercing  her  heart  with  a  deadliness  no  words  can 
describe.  With  a  spasmodic  effort  she  withdrew  her  eyes, 
urged  on  the  horse,  and  in  the  chaos  of  perturbed  memo- 
ries was  oblivious  of  any  presence  beside  her.  The  deed 
of  deception  was  complete. 

Gaining  a  knoll  on  which  the  park  transformed  itself 
into  wood  and  copse,  Knight  came  still  closer  to  her  side, 
and  said,  '*  Are  you  better  now,  dearest  ?  " 

"  O,  yes."  She  pressed  a  hand  to  her  eyes,  as  if  to 
blot  out  the  image  of  Stephen.  A  vivid  scarlet  spot  now 
shone  with  preternatural  brightness  in  the  centre  of  each 
cheek,  leaving  the  remainder  of  her  face  lily-white  as  be- 
fore. 

"  Elfride,"  said  Knight,  rather  in  his  old  tone  of  men- 
tor, "  you  know  I  don't  for  a  moment  chide  you,  but  is  there 
not  a  great  deal  of  unwomanly  weakness  in  your  allowing 
yourself  to  be  so  overwhelmed  by  the  sight  of  what,  after 
all,  is  no  novelty  ?  Every  woman  worthy  of  the  name 
should,  I  think,  be  able  to  look  upon  death  with  something 
like  composure.     Surely  you  think  so  too  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  own  it." 

His  obtuseness  to  the  cause  of  her  indisposition,  by 
evidencing  his  entire  freedom  from  the  suspicion  of  any- 
thing behind  the  scenes,  showed  how  incapable  Knight  was 
of  deception  himself,  rather  than  any  inherent  dullness  in 
him  regarding  human  nature.  This,  clearly  perceived  by 
Elfride,  added  poignancy  to  her  self-reproach,  and  she 
idolized  him  the  more  because  of  their  difference.  Even 
the  recent  sight  of  Stephen's  face  and  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  which,  for  a  moment,  had  stirred  a  chord  or  two  of 
ancient  kindness,  were  unable  to  keep  down  the  adoration 
re-existent  now  that  he  was  again  out  of  view. 

She  had  replied  to  Knight's  question  hastily,  and  im- 

12* 


2/4 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES. 


mediately  went  on  to  speak  of  indifferent  subjects.  Aftei 
they  had  reached  home,  she  was  apart  from  him  till  dinner- 
time. When  dinner  was  over,  and  they  were  watching  the 
dusk  in  the  drawing-room,  Knight  stepped  out  upon  the 
terrace.  Elfride  went  after  him  very  decisively,  on  the 
spur  of  a  virtuous  intention. 

"  Mr.  Knight,  I  want  to  tell  you  something,"  she  said, 
with  quiet  firmness. 

"  And  what  is  it  about  ? "  gayly  returned  her  lover. 
"  Happiness,  I  hope.  Do  not  let  anything  keep  you  so  sad 
as  you  seem  to  have  been  to-day." 

"I  cannot  tell  you  the  matter  until  I  tell  you  the  whole 
substance  of  it,''  she  said.  "  And  that  I  will  do  to-morrow. 
I  have  been  reminded  of  it  to-day.  It  is  about  something 
I  once  did,  and  don't  think  I  ought  to  have." 

This,  it  must  be  said,  was  rather  a  mild  way  of  refer- 
ring to  a  frantic  passion  and  flight,  which,  much  or  little  in 
itself,  only  accident  had  saved  from  being  a  scandal  in  the 
public  eye. 

Knight  thought  the  matter  some  trifle,  and  said  pleas- 
antly : 

"  Then  I  am  not  to  hear  the  dreadful  confession  now  ?  " 

"  No,  not  now.  I  did  not  mean  to-night,"  Elfride  re- 
sponded, with  a  slight  decline  in  the  firmness  of  her  voice. 
*'It  is  not  light,  as  you  think  it — it  troubles  me  a  great 
deal."  Fearing  now  the  effect  of  her  own  earnestness,  she 
answered  forcedly,  "  Though,  perhaps,  you  may  think  it 
.ight,  after  all." 

"  But  you  have  not  said  when  it  is  to  be  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  morning.  Name  a  time,  will  you,  and 
bind  me  to  it?  I  want  you  to  name  an  hour,  because  I 
am  weak,  and  may  otherwise  try  to  get  out  of  it."  She 
added  a  little  artificial  laugh,  which  showed  how  timorous 
her  resolution  was  still. 

"  Well,  say  after  breakfast — at  eleven  o'clock." 

"  Yes,  eleven  o'clock.  I  promise  you.  Bind  me  strict 
ly  to  my  word." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

LULL  A   FANCY,   TROUBLE-TOST 


» 


"  T\  /T  ^^^  Swancourt,  it  is  eleven  o'clock." 

IVJ^  She  was  looking  out  of  her  dressing-room  window 
on  the  first  floor,  and  Knight  was  regarding  her  from  the 
teirace  balustrade,  upon  which  he  had  been  idly  sitting  for 
some  time — dividing  the  glances  of  his  eye  between  the 
pages  of  a  book  in  his  hand,  the  brilliant  hues  of  the  gera- 
niums and  calceolarias,  and  the  open  window  above  men- 
tioned. 

"  Yes,  it  is,  I  know.     I  am  coming." 
He  drew  closer,  and  under  the  window. 
"  How  are  you  this  morning,  Elfride  ?     You  look  no 
better  for  your  long  night's  rest." 

She  appeared  at  the  door  shortly  after,  took  his  offered 
arm,  and  together  they  walked  slowly  down  the  gravel 
path  leading  to  the  river  and  away  under  the  trees. 

Her  resolution,  sustained  during  the  last  fifteen  hours, 
had  been  to  tell  him  the  whole  truth,  and  now  the  moment 
had  come. 

Step  by  step  they  advanced,  and  still  she  did  not  speak. 
They  were  nearly  at  the  end  of  the  walk,  when  Knight 
broke  the  silence. 

"  Well,  what  is  the  confession,  Elfride  ? " 
She  paused  a  moment,  drew  a  long  breath  ;  and  this 
is  what  she  said  : 

"  I  told  you  one  day— or  rather  I  gave  you  to  under- 
stand—what was  not  true.  I  fancy  you  thought  me  to 
mean  I  was  nineteen  my  next  birthday,  but  it  was  my  last 
I  was  nineteen." 

The  moment  had  been  too  much  for  her.  Now  that 
the  crisis  had  come,  no  qualms  of  conscience,  no  love  of 
honesty,  no  yearning  to  make  a  confidence  and  obtain  for- 


276  A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES. 

giveness  with  a  kiss,  could  string  Elfride  up  to  the  venture. 
Her  dread  lest  he  should  be  unforgiving  was  heightened  by 
the  thought  of  yesterday's  artifice,  which  might  possibly  add 
disgust  to  his  disappointment  The  certainty  of  one  more 
day's  affection,  which  she  gained  by  silence,  outvalued  the 
hope  of  a  perpetuity  combined  with  the  risk  of  all. 

The  trepidation  caused  by  these  thoughts  on  what  she 
had  intended  to  say  shook  so  naturally  the  words  she  did 
say,  that  Knight  never  for  a  moment  suspected  them  to  be 
a  last  moment's  substitution.  He  smiled  and  pressed  her 
hand  warmly. 

"  My  dear  Elfie — yes,  you  are  now — no  protestation — 
what  a  nice  little  woman  you  are,  to  be  so  absurdly  scrupu- 
lous about  a  mere  iota  !  Really,  I  never  once  have  thought 
whether  your  nineteenth  year  was  the  last  or  the  present. 
And,  by  George,  well  I  may  not ;  for  it  would  never  do  for 
an  old  fogy  a  dozen  years  older  to  stand  upon  such  a  trifle 
as  that." 

"Don't  praise  me — don't  praise  me!  Though  I  prize 
it  from  your  lips,  I  don't  deserve  it  now." 

But  Knight  being  in  an  exceptionally  genial  mood, 
merely  saw  this  distressful  exclamation  as  modesty.  "  Well," 
he  added  after  a  minute,  "  I  like  you  all  the  better,  you 
know,  for  such  moral  precision,  although  I  called  it  absurd." 
He  went  on  with  tender  earnestness  :  "  For,  Elfride,  there 
is  one  thing  I  do  love  to  see  in  a  woman — that  is,  a  soul 
truthful  and  clear  as  heaven's  light.  I  could  put  up  with 
anything  if  I  had  that — forgive  nothing  if  I  had  it  not. 
Elfride,  you  have  such  a  soul,  if  ever  woman  had  ;  and  hav- 
ing it,  secure  it,  and  don't  ever  listen  to  the  fashionable 
theories  of  the  day  about  a  woman's  privileges  and  natural 
right  to  practice  wiles.  Depend  upon  it,  my  dear  girl,  that 
a  noble  woman  must  be  as  honest  as  a  noble  man.  I 
specially  mean  by  honesty,  fairness  not  only  in  matters  of 
business  and  social  detail,  but  in  all  the  delicate  dealings 
of  love,  to  which  the  licence  given  to  your  sex  particularly 
refers." 

Elfride  looked  troublously  at  the  trees. 

"  Now  let  us  go  on  to  the  river,  Elfie." 

"  I  would  if  I  had  a  hat  on,"  she  said  with  a  sort  of 
suppressed  woe. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  2/; 

**  I  will  get  it  for  you,"  said  Knight,  veiy  willing  to 
purchase  her  companionship  at  so  cheap  a  price.  "  You 
sit  down  there  a  minute."  And  he  turned  and  walked 
rapidly  back  to  the  house  after  the  article  in  question. 

Elfride  sat  down  upon  one  of  the  rustic  benches  which 
adorned  this  portion  of  the  grounds,  and  remained  with  her 
eyes  upon  the  grass.  She  was  induced  to  lift  them  by  hear- 
ing the  noise  of  light  and  irregular  footsteps  hard  by. 
Passing  along  the  path  which  intersected  the  one  she  was 
in  and  traversed  the  outer  shrubberies,  Elfride  beheld  the 
farmer's  widow,  Mrs.  Jethway.  Before  she  noticed  Elfride, 
she  paused  to  look  at  the  house,  portions  of  which  were 
visible  through  the  bushes.  Elfride,  shrinking  back,  hoped 
the  unpleasant  woman  might  pass  on  without  seeing  her. 
But  Mrs.  Jethway,  silently  apostrophizing  the  house,  with 
actions  which  seemed  dictated  by  a  half-overturned  reason, 
had  discerned  the  girl,  and  immediately  came  up  and  stood 
in  front  of  her. 

"  Ah,  Miss  Swancourt !  Why  did  you  disturb  me  ? 
Mustn't  I  trespass  here  ?  " 

"  You  may  walk  here  if  you  like,  Mrs.  Jethway.  I  do 
not  disturb  you." 

"  You  disturb  my  mind,  and  my  mind  is  my  whole  life ; 
for  my  boy  is  there  still,  and  he  is  gone  from  my  body." 

"Yes,  poor  young  man.     I  was  sorry  when  he  died." 

"  Do  you  know  what  he  died  of? " 

"  Consumption." 

"  O,  no,  no  !  "  said  the  widow.  "  That  word  *  con- 
sumption '  covers  a  good  deal.  He  died  because  you  were 
his  own  well-agreed  sweetheart,  and  then  proved  false — and 
it  killed  him.  Yes,  Miss  Swancourt,"  she  said  in  an  excited 
whisper,  "you  killed  my  son  ! " 

"  How  can  you  be  so  wicked  and  foolish  !  "  replied 
Elfride,  rising  indignantly.  But  indignation  was  not  natu- 
ral to  her,  and  having  been  so  worn  and  harrowed  by  late 
events,  she  lost  any  powers  of  defence  that  mood  might 
have  lent  her.  "  I  could  not  help  his  loving  me,  Mrs.  Jeth- 
way !  " 

"  That's  just  what  you  could  have  helped.  You  know 
how  it  began,  Miss  Elfride.  Yes :  you  said  you  liked  the 
name  of  Felix  better  than  any  other  name  in  the  parish, 


2^3  ^  P^^^  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

and  you  knew  it  was  his  name,  and  that  those  you  said  il 
to  would  report  it  to  him." 

*'  I  knew  it  was  his  name — of  course  I  ^\6. ;  but  I  am 
sure,  Mrs.  Jethway,  I  did  not  intend  anybody  to  tell  him." 
*'  But  you  knew  they  would." 
"No,  I  didn't." 

"  And  then,  after  that,  when  you  were  riding  on  Revels- 
day  by  our  house,  and  the  lads  were  gathered  there,  and 
you  wanted  to  dismount,  when  Jim  Drake  and  George  Up- 
way  and  three  or  four  more  ran  forward  to  hold  your  pony, 
and  Felix  stood  back  timid,  why  did  you  beckon  to  him  and 
say  you  would  rather  he  held  it  ?  " 

"  O,  Mrs.  Jethway,  you  do  think  so  mistakenly !  I 
liked  him  best— that's  why  I  wanted  him  to  do  it.  He  was 
gentle  and  nice — I  always  thought  him  so — and  I  liked 
him." 

"  Then  why  did  you  let  him  kiss  you  ?  " 
"  It  is  a  falsehood  ;  O,  it  is,   it  is!  "  said  Elfride,  weep- 
ing with  desperation.     "  He  came  behind  me,  and  attempt- 
ed to  kiss  me ;  and  that  was  why  I  told  him  never  to  let 
me  see  hin  again." 

"  But  you  did  not  tell  your  father  or  anybody,  as  you 
would  have  if  you  had  looked  upon  it  then  as  the  insult  you 
now  pretend  it  was." 

"  He  begged  me  not  to  tell,  and  foolishly  enough  I  did 
not.  And  I  wish  I  had  now.  I  little  expected  to  be  scourg- 
ed with  my  own  kindness.  Pray  leave  me,  Mrs.  Jethway." 
"  Well,  you  harshly  dismissed  him,  and  he  died.  And 
before  his  body  was  cold,  you  took  another  to  your 
heart.  Then  as  carelessly  sent  him  about  his  business,  and 
took  a  third.  And,  look  here,  Miss  Swancourt,"  she  con- 
tinued, drawing  closer  ;  "  you  have  put  it  in  my  power  to 
do  unto  you  as  you  did  to  me.  Have  you  forgotten  the 
would-be  runaway  marriage  ?  The  journey  to  London,  and 
the  return  the  next  day  without  being  married,  and  that 
there's  enough  disgrace  in  that  to  ruin  a  woman's  good 
name  far  less  light  than  yours  ?  You  may  have  :  I  have 
not.  Fickleness  towards  a  lover  is  bad,  but  fickleness 
after  playing  the  wife  is  wantonness." 

"  O,   it  is  a  wicked  cruel  lie  1  Do  not  say  it  j  O,  do 
notl" 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


279 


"Does  your  new  man  know  of  it?  I  think  not,  or  he 
would  be  no  man  of  yours  !  As  much  of  the  story  as  was 
known  is  creeping  about  the  neighborhood  even  now ;  but 
I  know  more  than  any  of  them,  and  my  time  will  come." 

"  T  defy  you  !  "  cried  Elfride  tempestuously.  "  Do  and 
say  all  you  can  to  ruin  me  ;  try,  put  your  tongue  at  work  \ 
I  invite  it !  I  defy  you  as  a  slanderous  woman  !  Look,  there 
he  comes."  A/id  her  voice  trembled  a  little  as  she  saw 
through  the  leaves  the  beloved  form  of  Knight  coming 
from  the  door  with  her  hat  in  his  hand.  "  Tell  him  at  once  ; 
I  can  bear  it." 

"  Not  now,"  said  the  woman,  and  disappeared  down  the 
path. 

The  excitement  of  her  latter  words  had  restored  color 
to  Elfride's  cheeks ;  and  hastily  wiping  her  eyes,  she  walk- 
ed farther  on,  so  that  by  the  time  her  lover  had  overtaken 
her  the  traces  of  emotion  had  nearly  disappeared  from  her 
face.  Knight  put  the  hat  upon  her  head,  took  her  hand, 
and  drew  it  within  his  arm. 

It  was  the  last  day  but  one  previous  to  their  departure 
for  St  Leonards ;  and  Knight  seemed  to  have  a  purpose 
in  being  much  in  her  company  that  day.  They  rambled 
along  the  valley.  The  season  was  that  period  in  the 
autumn  when  the  foliage  alone  of  an  ordinary  plantation  is 
rich  enough  in  hues  to  exhaust  the  chromatic  combina- 
tions of  an  artist's  palette.  Most  lustrous  of  all  are  the 
beeches,  graduating  from  bright  rusty  red  at  the  extremity 
of  the  boughs  to  a  bright  yellow  at  their  inner  parts ; 
young  oaks  are  still  of  a  neutral  green ;  Scotch  firs  and 
hollies  are  nearly  blue  ;  while  occasional  dottings  of  other 
varieties  give  maroons  and  purples  of  eveiy  tinge. 

The  river — such  as  it  was — here  pursued  its  course 
amid  flagstones  as  level  as  a  pavement,  but  divided  by 
crevices  of  irregular  width.  With  the  summer  drought  the 
torrent  had  narrowed  till  it  was  now  but  a  thread  of  crystal 
clearness,  meandering  along  a  central  channel  in  the  rocky 
bed  of  the  winter  current.  Knight  scrambled  through  the 
bushes  which  at  this  point  nearly  covered  the  brook  from 
sight,  and  leaped  down  upon  the  dry  portion  of  the  river 
bottom. 

"  Elfride,  I  never  saw  such  a  sight ! "  he  exclaimed. 


28o  ^  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

"  The  hazels  overhang  the  river's  course  in  a  perfect  arch, 
and  the  floor  is  beautifully  paved.  The  place  reminds 
one  of  the  passages  of  a  cloister.     Let  me  help  you  down." 

He  assisted  her  through  the  marginal  underwood  and 
down  to  the  stones.  They  walked  on  together  to  a  tiny 
cascade  about  a  foot  wide  and  high,  and  sat  down  beside 
it  on  the  flags  that  for  nine  months  in  the  year  were  sub- 
merged beneath  a  gushing  bourne.  From  their  feet 
trickled  the  attenuated  thread  of  water  which  alone  re- 
mained to  tell  the  intent  and  reason  of  this  leaf-covered 
aisle,  and  journeyed  on  in  a  zigzag  line  till  lost  in  the 
shade. 

Knight,  leaning  on  his  elbow,  after  contemplating  all 
this,  looked  critically  at  Elfride. 

"  Does  not  such  a  luxuriant  head  of  hair  exhaust  itself 
and  get  thin,  as  the  years  go  on  from  eighteen  to  eight-and 
twenty  ? "  he  asked  at  length. 

"  O  no !  "  she  said  quickly,  with  a  visible  disinclination 
to  harbor  such  a  thought,  which  came  upon  her  with  an 
unpleasantness  whose  force  it  would  be  difficult  for  men  to 
understand.  She  added  afterwards,  with  smouldering  un- 
easiness, "  Do  you  really  think  that  a  great  abundance  of 
hair  is  more  likely  to  get  thin  than  a  moderate  quantity.?" 

"  Yes,  I  really  do.  I  believe — am  almost  sure,  in  fact 
— that  if  statistics  could  be  obtained  on  the  subject,  you 
would  find  the  persons  with  thin  hair  were  those  who  had 
a  superabundance  originally,  and  that  those  who  start 
with  a  moderate  quantity  retain  it  without  much  loss." 

Elfride's  troubles  sat  upon  her  face  as  well  as  in  her 
heart.  Perhaps  to  a  woman  it  is  almost  as  dreadful  to 
think  of  losing  her  beauty  as  of  losing  her  reputation.  At 
any  rate,  she  looked  quite  as  gloomy  as  she  had  looked  at 
any  minute  that  day. 

"  You  shouldn't  be  so  troubled  about  a  mere  personal 
adornment,"  said  Knight,  with  some  of  the  severity  of 
tone  that  had  been  customary  before  she  had  beguiled 
him  into  softness. 

"  I  think  it  a  woman's  duty  to  be  as  beautiful  as  she 
can.  If  I  were  a  scholar,  I  would  give  you  chapter  and 
verse  for  it  from  one  of  your  own  Latin  authors.  I  know 
there  is  such  a  passage,  for  papa  has  alluded  to  it." 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES.  28 1 

"  *  Munditiag,  et  ornatus,  et  cultus,'  etc. — is  that  it  ?  A 
passage  in  Livy  which  is  no  defence  at  all." 

"  No,  it  is  not  that." 

"Never  mind,  then  ;  for  I  have  a  reason  for  not  taking 
up  my  old  cudgels  against  you,  Elfie.  Can  you  guess 
what  the  reason  is  ?  " 

"No  ;  but  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  she  said  thankfully. 
"For  it  is  dreadful  when  you  talk  so.  For  whatever 
dreadful  name  the  weakness  may  deserve,  I  must  candidly 
own  that  I  am  terrified  to  think  my  hair  may  ever  get 
thin." 

"Of  course;  a  sensible  woman  would  rather  lose  her 
wits  than  her  beauty." 

"  I  don't  care  if  you  do  say  satire  and  judge  me  cruelly. 
I  know  my  hair  is  beautiful ;  everybody  says  so." 

"  Why,  my  dear  Miss  Swancourt,"  he  tenderly  replied, 
"  I  have  not  said  anything  against  it.  But  you  know  wh?t 
is  said  about  handsome  being  and  handsome  doing." 

"  Poor  Miss  Handsome-does  cuts  but  a  sorry  figure 
beside  Miss  Handsome-is  in  every  man's  eyes,  your  own 
not  excepted,  Mr.  Knight,  though  it  pleases  you  to  throw 
off  so,"  said  Elfride  saucily.  And  lowering  her  voice : 
"  You  ought  not  to  have  taken  so  much  trouble  to  save  me 
from  falling  over  the  cliff,  for  you  don't  think  mine  a  life 
worth  much  (rouble  evidently." 

"  Perhaps  you  think  mine  was  not  worth  yours." 

"  It  was  worth  anybody's  !  " 

Her  hand  was  plashing  in  the  little  waterfall,  and  her 
eyes  were  bent  the  same  way. 

"You  talk  about  my  severity  with  you,  Elfride.  You 
are  unkind  to  me,  you  know." 

"  How  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  up  from  her  idle  occupa- 
tion. 

"  After  my  taking  trouble  to  get  jewelry  to  please  you, 
yw  wouldn't  accept  it." 

"  Perhaps  I  would  now;  perhaps  I  want  to.'* 

"  Do  !  "  said  Knight. 

And  the  packet  was  withdrawn  from  his  pocket  and 
presented  the  third  time.  Elfride  took  it  with  delight. 
The  obstacle  was  rent  in  twain,  and  the  pretty  gift  wa» 
hers. 


282  ^  P'-'-^R  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

"  ril  take  out  these  uglv  ones  at  once,"  she  exclaimed, 

"and  I'll  wear  yours— shall  I  ?" 

"  I  should  be  gratified." 

Now,  though  it  may  seem  unlikely,  considering  how  fa? 
the  two  had  gone  in  converse,  Knight  had  never  yet  ven- 
tured to  kiss  Elfride.  Far  slower  was  he  than  Stephen 
Smith  in  matters  like  that  The  utmost  advance  he  had 
made  in  such  demonstrations  had  been  to  the  degree  wit- 
nessed by  Stephen  in  the  summer-house.  So  Elfride's 
ch^ek  being  still  forbidden  fruit  to  him,  he  said  impul- 
sively, 

"  Elfie,  I  should  like  to  touch  that  beautiful  ear  of 
yours.     Those  are  my  gifts  ;  so  let  me  dress  you  in  them." 

She  hesitated  with  a  stimulating  hesitation. 

"  Let  me  put  just  one  in  its  place,  then  1 " 

Her  face  grew  much  warmer. 

"  I  don't  think  it  would  be  quite  the  usual  or  proper 
course,"  she  said,  suddenly  turning  and  resuming  her 
operation  of  plashing  in  the  miniature  cataract. 

The  stillness  of  things  was  disturbed  by  a  bird  coming 
to  the  streamlet  to  drink.  After  watching  him  dip  his 
bill,  sprinkle  himself,  and  fly  into  a  tree.  Knight  replied, 
with  the  courtcois  brusqueness  she  so  much  liked  to  hear, 

"Elfride,  now  vou  may  as  well  be  fair.  You  would 
mind  my  doinjj;  it  but  little,  I  think ;  so  give  me  leave, 
do." 

"  I  will  be  fair,  then,"  she  said  confidingly,  and  looking 
him  full  in  the  face.  It  was  a  particular  pleasure  to  her 
to  be  able  to  io  a  little  honesty  without  fear.  "  I  should 
not  mind  your  doing  so — I  should  like  such  an  attention. 
My  thought  was,  would  it  be  right  to  let  you  ?  " 

"  Then  T  w  11 '  "  he  rejoined,  with  that  singular  earnest- 
ness about  a  small  matter — in  the  eyes  of  a  ladies'  man  but 
a  momentary  peg  for  flirtation  or  jest — which  is  only  found 
in  deep  natarcs  who  have  been  wholly  unused  to  toying 
with  womankind,  and  which,  from  its  unwontedness,  is  in 
itself  a  tribute  the  most  precious  that  can  be  rendered,  and 
homage  the  most  exquisite  to  be  received. 

"  And  you  shall,"  she  whispered,  without  reserve,  and 
no  longer  mistress  of  the  ceremonies.  And  then  Elfride 
inclined  herself  towards  him,  thrust   back   her  hair,  and 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYKS.  283 

poised  her  head  sideways.  In  doing  th.s  ner  arm  and 
shoulder  necessarily  rested  against  his  breast. 

At  the  touch,  the  sensation  of  both  seeme(^>  to  be  con- 
centrated at  the  point  of  contact.  All  the  time  he  was  per- 
forming the  delicate  manoeuvre.  Knight  trembled  like  a 
young  surgeon  in  his  first  operation. 

"  Now  the  other,"  said  Knight  in  a  whisper. 

"No,  no." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  don't  know  exactly.'* 

"  You  must  know." 

"  Your  touch  agitates  me  so.     Let  us  go  home." 

"  Don't  say  that,  Elfride.  What  is  it,  after  all  ?  A  mere 
nothing.     Now  turn  round,  dearest." 

She  was  powerless  to  disobey,  and  turned  forthwith ; 
and  then,  without  any  defined  intention  in  cither's  mind,  his 
face  and  hers  drew  closer  together;  and  he  supported  her 
there,  and  kissed  her. 

Knight  was  at  once  the  most  ardent  and  the  coolest 
man  alive.  When  his  emotions  slumbered  he  appeared 
almost  phlegmatic  ;  when  they  were  moved  he  was  no  less 
than  passionate.  And  now,  without  having  quite  intended 
an  early  marriage,  he  put  the  question  plainly.  It  came 
iviih  all  the  ardoi  which  was  the  accumulation  of  long 
years  behind  a  na'ural  reserve. 

"  Elfride,  wh^n  sljall  we  be  married  ? " 

The  words  were  sweet  Ol  er;  b  t  there  was  a  bitter  in 
the  sweet.  These  newly-overt  acts  c  f  his,  w^hich  had  cul  - 
mmated  in  this  plain  question,  coming  on  the  very  day  o ' 
Mrs.  Jethway's  blasting  reproaches,  painted  distinctly  h^T 
fickleness  as  an  enormity.  Loving  him  in  secret  had  not 
seemed  such  thorough-going  inconstancy  as  the  same  love 
recognized  and  acted  upon  in  the  face  of  threats.  Her  dis- 
traction was  interpreted  by  him  at  her  side  as  the  outward 
signs  of  an  unwonted  experience. 

"  I  don't  press  you  for  an  answer  now,  darling,"  he  said, 
seeing  she  was  not  likely  to  give  a  lucid  reply.  "  Take  your 
time." 

Knight  was  as  honorable  a  man  as  was  ever  loved  and 
deluded  by  woman.  It  may  be  said  that  his  blindness  in 
love  proved  the  point,  for  keenness  in  love  generally  goes 


284  ^  ^^^^  ^^  BLUE  E  YES. 

with  meanness  in  general.  Once  the  passion  had  mas- 
tered him,  the  intellect  had  gone  for  naught.  Knight,  as 
a  lover,  was  more  single-minded  and  far  simpler  than  his 
friend  Stephen,  who  in  general  capacity  was  shallow  beside 
him. 

Without  saying  more  on  the  subject  of  their  marriage, 
Knight  held  her  at  arm's  length,  as  if  she  had  been  a  large 
bouquet,  and  looked  at  her  with  critical  affection. 

"  Does  your  pretty  gift  become  me  ? "  she  inquired, 
with  tears  of  excitement  on  the  fringes  of  her  eyes. 

"  Undoubtedly,  perfectly  !  "  said  her  lover,  adopting  a 
lighter  tone  to  put  her  at  ease.  "  Ah,  you  should  see 
them  ;  you  look  lovelier  than  ever.  Fancy  that  I  have 
been  able  to  improve  you  !  " 

"  Am  I  really  so  nice  t  I  am  glad  for  your  sake.  I 
wish  I  could  see  myself." 

*'  You  can't.     You  must  wait  till  we  get  home." 

"  I  shall  never  be  able,"  she  said,  laughing.  "  Look : 
here's  a  way." 

"  So  there  is.     Well  done,  woman's  wit ! " 

"Hold  me  steady." 

"Oyes." 

"And  don't  let  me  fall,  will  you?  ' 

"  By  no  means." 

Below  their  seat  the  thread  of  water  paused  to  spread 
out  into  a  smooth  small  pool.  Knight  supported  her  while 
she  knelt  down  and  leaned  over  it. 

"  I  can  see  myself  Really,  try  as  religiously  as  I  will, 
1  cannot  help  admiring  my  appearance  in  them." 

"  Doubtless.  How  can  you  be  so  fond  of  finery  ?  I  be- 
lieve you  are  corrupting  me  into  a  taste  for  it  I  used  to 
hate  every  such  thing  before  I  knew  you." 

"I  like  ornaments,  because  I  want  people  to  admire 
what  you  possess  and  envy  you,  and  say,  '  I  wish  I  was 
he.' " 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  object  after  that.  And  how 
much  longer  are  you  going  to  look  in  there  at  yourself.-*" 

"  Until  you  are  tired  of  holding  me.  O,  I  w;int  to  ask 
you  something."  And  she  turned  round.  "  Now  tell  truly, 
won't  you  ?     What  color  of  hair  do  you  like  best  now  ?  " 

Knight  did  not  answer  at  the  moment. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES,  285 

"  Say  light,  do  !  "  she  whispered  coaxingly.  "  Don't  say 
dark,  as  you  did  that  time." 

*'  Light-brown,  then.  Exactly  the  color  of  my  sweet- 
heart's." 

"  Really  ?"  said  Elfride,  enjoying  as  truth  what  she  knew 
to  be  flattery. 

*'  Yes." 

"  And  blue  eyes,  too,  not  hazel  ?     Say  yes,  say  yes  1" 

"  One  recantation  is  enough  for  to-day." 

"No,  no." 

"  Very  well,  blue  eyes."  And  Knight  laughed,  and 
drew  her  close  and  kissed  her  the  second  time,  which  op- 
erations he  performed  with  the  carefulness  of  a  fruiterer 
touching  a  bunch  of  grapes  so  as  not  to  disturb  their 
bloom. 

Elfride  objected  this  time,  and  flung  away  her  face,  the 
movement  causing  a  slight  disarrangement  of  hat  and  hair. 
Hardly  thinking  what  she  said  in  the  trepidation  of  the  mo- 
ment, she  exclaimed,  clapping  her  hand  to  her  ear : 

"  Ah,  we  must  be  careful !  I  lost  the  other  ear-rings  do- 
ing like  this." 

No  sooner  did  she  recognize  the  signiffrcant  words  than 
a  troubled  look  passed  across  her  face,  and  she  shut  her 
lips  as  if  to  keep  them  back. 

"■  Doing  like  what?  "  said  Knight. 

'^  O,  sitting  down  out  of  doors,"  she  replied  hastily. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

"  CARE, 


IT  is  an  evening  at  the  beginning  of  October,  and  the 
mellowest  of  autumn  sunsets  irradiates  London,  even  to 
its  uttermost  eastern  end.  Between  the  eye  and  the  flaming 
west  columns  of  smoke  standing  up  in  the  still  air  like  tall 
tiees.     Everything  in  the  shade  is  rich  and  misty  blue. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Swancourt  and  Elfride  are  looking  at  these 
lustrous  and  lurid  contrasts  from  the  v/indow  of  a  large  ho- 
tel near  London  Bridge.  The  visit  to  their  friends  at  St. 
Leonards  is  over,  and  they  are  staying  a  day  or  two  in  the 
metropolis  on  their  way  home. 

Knight  spent  the  same  interval  of  time  in  crossing  over 
to  Brittany  by  way  of  Weymouth,  Jersey,  and  St.  Malo. 
He  then  passed  through  Normandy,  and  returned  to  Lon- 
don also,  his  arrival  there  having  been  two  days  after  that  of 
Elfride  and  her  parents. 

So  the  evening  of  this  October  day  saw  them  all  meeting 
at  the  before-mentioned  hotel,  where  they  had  previously 
engaged  apartments.  During  the  afternoon  Knight  had 
been  to  his  lodgings  at  Richmond  to  make  a  little  change 
in  the  nature  of  his  baggage  ;  and  on  coming  up  again  there 
was  never  ushered  by  a  bland  waiter  into  a  comfortable 
apartment  a  happier  man  than  was  Knight  when  shown  to 
where  Elfride  and  her  step-mother  were  sitting  after  a  fatigu- 
ing day  of  shopping. 

Elfride  looked  none  the  better  for  her  change :  Knight 
was  as  brown  as  a  nut.  They  were  soon  engaged  by  them- 
selves in  a  corner  of  the  room.  Now  that  the  precious  words 
of  promise  had  been  spoken,  the  young  girl  had  no  idea  of 
keeping  up  her  price  by  the  system  of  reserve  which  other 
more  accomplished  maidens  use.     Her  lover  was  with  her 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


287 


again,  and  it  was  enough  :  she  made  her  heart  over  to  him 
entirely. 

Dinner  was  soon  despatched.  And  when  a  preliminary 
round  of  conversation  concerning  their  doings  since  the  last 
parting  had  been  concluded,  they  reverted  to  the  subject  of 
to-morrow's  journey  home. 

"That  enervating  ride  through  the  myrtle  climate  of 
South  Devon — how  I  dread  it  to-morrow  !  "  Mrs.  S\\an- 
court  was  saying.  "  I  had  hoped  the  weather  would  have 
been  cooler  by  this  time." 

"  Did  you  ever  go  by  water  ? "  said  Knight. 

*'  Never — by  never,  I  mean  not  since  the  time  of  rail- 
ways." 

"  Then  if  you  can  afford  an  additional  day,  I  propose 
that  we  do  it,"  said  Knight.  "  The  Channel  is  like  a  lake 
just  now.  We  should  reach  Plymouth  in  about  forty  hours, 
I  think,  and  the  boats  start  from  just  below  the  Bridge  here  " 
(pointing  over  his  shoulder  eastward). 

"Hear,  hear  !  "  said  the  vicar. 

"  It's  an  idea,  certainly,"  said  his  wife. 

"  Of  course  these  coasters  are  rather  tubby,"  said  Knight. 
"But  you  wouldn't  mind  that.-*  " 

"  No:  we  wouldn't  mind." 

"  And  the  saloon  is  a  place  like  the  fish-market  of  a 
ninth-rate  country  town,  but  that  wouldn't  matter  ? " 

"  O,  dear,  no.  If  we  had  only  thought  of  it  soon  enough 
we  might  have  had  the  use  of  Lord  Luxellian's  yacht.  But 
never  mind,  we'll  go.  We  shall  escape  the  worrying  rattle 
through  the  whole  length  of  the  metropolis  to-morrow  morn- 
ing— not  to  mention  .the  risk  of  being  killed  by  excursion 
trains,  which  is  not  a  little  one  at  this  time  of  the  year,  if 
the  papers  are  true." 

Elfride,  too,  thought  the  arrangement  delightful ;  and 
accordingly,  ten  o'clock  the  following  morning  saw  two  cabs 
wending  their  way  round  by  the  Mint,  and  between  the  pre- 
ternaturally  high  walls  of  Nightingale-lane  towards  the  river 
side.  The  first  vehicle  was  occupied  by  the  travellers  in 
person,  and  the  second  brought  up  the  luggage  under  the 
supervision  of  Mrs.  Snewson,  Mrs.  Swancourt's  maid — and 
for  the  last  fortnight  Elfride's  also  ;  for  although  the  young- 
er lady  had  never  been  accustomed  to  any  such  a«*"-ndant 


238  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

at  robing  times,  her  step-mother  forced  her  into  a  semblance 
of  familiarity  with  one  when  they  were  away  from  home. 

Presently  wagons,  bales,  and  smells  of  all  descriptions 
increased  to  such  an  extent  that  the  advance  of  the  cabs 
was  at  the  slowest  possible  rate.  At  intervals  it  was  neces- 
sary to  halt  entirely,  that  the  heavy  vehicles  unloading  in 
front  might  be  moved  aside,  a  feat  which  was  not  accomplish- 
ed without  a  deal  of  swearing  and  noise.  The  vicar  put  his 
head  out  of  the  window. 

"  Surely  there  must  be  some  mistake  in  the  way,"  he 
said  with  great  concern,  drawing  in  his  head  again.  "  There's 
not  a  respectable  conveyance  to  be  seen  here  except  ours. 
I've  heard  that  there  are  strange  dens  in  this  part  of  Lon- 
don, into  which  people  have  been  entrapped  and  murder- 
ed— surely  there  is  no  conspiracy  on  the  part  of  the  cab- 
men?" 

"  O,  no,  no.  It  is  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Knight,  who  was 
as  placid  as  dewy  eve  by  the  side  of  Elfride. 

"  But  what  I  argue  from,"  said  the  vicar,  with  a  greater 
emphasis  of  uneasiness,  "  are  plain  appearances.  This 
can't  be  the  highway  from  London  to  Plymouth  by  water, 
because  it  is  no  way  at  all  to  any  place.  We  shall  miss  our 
steamer  and  our  train  too — that's  what  I  think." 

"  Depend  upon  it  we  are  right.     In  fact,  here  we  are." 

"Trimmer's  Wharf,"  said  the  cabman,  opening  the 
door. 

No  sooner  had  they  alighted  than  they  perceived  a  tus- 
sle going  on  between  the  hind  cabman  and  a  crowd  of  light 
porters  who  had  charged  him  in  column,  to  obtain  posses- 
sion of  the  bags  and  boxes,  Mrs.  Snewson's  hands  being 
seen  stretched  towards  heaven  in  the  melee.  Knight  ad- 
vanced gallantly,  and  after  a  hard  struggle  reduced  the 
crowd  to  two,  upon  whose  shoulders  and  trucks  the  goods  van- 
ished away  in  the  direction  of  the  water's  edge  with  start- 
ling rapidity. 

Then  more  of  the  same  tribe,  who  had  run  on  ahead, 
were  heard  shouting  to  boatmen,  three  of  whom  pulled  boats 
alongside,  and  two  being  vanquished,  the  luggage  went 
tumbling  into  the  remaining  one. 

"  Never  saw  such  a  dreadful  scene  in  mv  life — never  ! " 
said   Mr.   Swancourt,  floundering  into   the  boat.     "Worse 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  289 

than  Famine  and  Sword  upon  one.  I  thought  such  cus- 
toms were  confined  to  continental  ports.  Aren't  you  aston- 
ished, Elfride  ? " 

"  O,  no,"  said  Elfride,  appearing  amid  the  dingy  scene 
like  a  rainbow  in  a  murky  sky.  "It  is  a  pleasant  novelty, 
I  think." 

"Where  in  the  wide  ocean  is  our  steamer.?'*  the  vicar 
inquired.  "  I  can  see  nothing  but  old  hulks,  for  the  life 
ot  me." 

"Just  behind  that  one,"  said  Knight ;  "  we  shall  soon  be 
round  under  her." 

The  object  of  their  search  was  shortly  after  disclosed  to 
view — a  great  lumbering  form  of  inky  blackness,  which  look- 
ed as  if  it  had  not  known  the  touch  of  a  painter's  brush  for 
.fifty  years.  It  was  lying  beside  such  another,  and  the  way 
on  board  was  down  a  narrow  lane  of  water  between  the  two, 
about  a  yard  and  a  half  wide  at  one  end,  and  gradually  con- 
verging to  a  point.  At  the  moment  of  their  entry  into  this 
narrow  passage,  a  brilliantly  painted  rival  paddled  down 
the  river  like  a  trotting  steed,  creating  such  a  series  of 
waves  and  splashes  that  their  frail  wherry  was  tossed  like 
a  teacup,  and  the  vicar  and  his  wife  slanted  this  way  and 
that,  inclining  their  heads  into  contact  with  a  Punch-and- 
Judy  air  and  countenance,  the  wavelets  striking  the  sides 
of  the  two  hulls,  and  flapping  back  into  their  laps. 

"  Dreadful !  horrible  ! "  Mr.  Swancourt  murmured  pri- 
vately ;  and  said  aloud,  "  I  thought  we  walked  on  board. 
I  don't  think  really  I  should  have  come,  if  I  had  known 
this  trouble  was  attached  to  it." 

"  li  they  must  splash,  I  wish  they  would  splash  us  with 
clean  water,"  said  the  old  lady,  wiping  her  dress  with  her 
handkerchief 

"  I  hope  it  is  perfectly  safe,"  continued  the  vicar. 

"  O  papa  !  ^joM  are  not  very  brave,"  cried  Elfride  merrily, 

"  Bravery  is  only  obtuseness  to  the  perception  of  con- 
tingencies," Mr.  Swancourt  severely  answered. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  laughed,  and  Elfride  laughed,  and 
Knight  laughed,  in  the  midst  of  wh'ch  pleasantness  a  man 
shouted  to  them  from  some  position  between  their  heads 
and  the  sky,  and  they  found  they  were  close  to  the  Juliet, 
into  which  they  quiveringly  ascended. 

9 


290 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES. 


It  being  found  that  the  lowness  of  the  tide  would  pre- 
veat  their  getting  off  for  an  hour,  the  Swancourts,  having 
nothing  else  to  do,  allowed  their  eyes  to  idle  upon  men  in 
blue  jerseys  performing  mysterious  mending  operations  with 
tar-twine  ;  or  turned  to  look  at  the  dashes  of  lurid  sunlight, 
like  burnished  copper  stars  afloat  on  the  ripples,  which 
danced  into  and  tantalized  their  vision ;  or  listened  to  the 
loud  music  of  a  steam  crane  at  work  close  by  ;  or  to  sigh- 
ing sounds  from  the  funnels  of  passing  steamers,  getting 
dead  as  they  grew  more  distant ;  or  to  shouts  from  the 
decks  of  different  craft  in  their  vicinity,  all  of  them  assum- 
ing the  form  of  "  Ah-he-hay  ! " 

Half-past  ten :  not  yet  off.  Mr.  Swancourt  sighed  a 
sigh  of  weariness,  and  looked  at  his  fellow-travellers  in  gen- 
eral. Their  faces  were  certainly  not  worth  looking  at.  The 
expression  "  Waiting  "  was  written  upon  them  so  absolutely 
that  nothing  more  could  be  discerned  there.  All  animation 
was  suspended  till  Providence  should  raise  the  water  and 
let  them  go. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  said  Knight,  "  that  we  have 
come  among  the  rarest  class  of  people  in  the  kingdom.  Of 
all  human  characteristics,  a  low  opinion  of  the  value  of  his 
own  time  by  an  individual  must  be  among  the  strangest  to 
find.  Here  we  see  numbers  of  that  patient  and  happy  spe- 
cies— rovers,  as  distinct  from  travellers. 

"  But  they  are  pleasure-seekers,  to  whom  time  is  of  no 
importance." 

"  O,  no.  The  pleasure-seekers  on  the  grand  routes  are 
more  anxious  than  the  commercial  travellers  to  rush  on. 
And  added  to  the  loss  of  time  in  getting  to  their  journey's 
end,  these  phenomenal  people  take  their  chance  of  sea-sick- 
ness by  coming  this  way. 

"  Can  it  be  ? "  inquired  the  vicar  with  apprehension. 
*  Surely  not,  Mr.  Knight,  just  here  in  our  own  English 
Channel — close  at  our  doors,  as  I  may  say." 

"  Entrance  passages  are  very  draughty  places,  and  the 
Channel  is  like  the  rest.  It  ruins  the  temper  of  sailors. 
It  has  been  calculated  by  philosophers  that  more  oaths  go  up 
to  heaven  from  the  Channel,  in  the  course  of  a  year,  than 
from  all  the  five  oceans  put  together." 

They  really  start  now,  and  the  dead  looks  of  all  the 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.    '  29 1 

throng  coine  to  life  immediately.     The  man  who  has  been 

frantically  hauling  in  a  rope  that  bade  fair  to  have  no  end 
ceases  his  labors,  and  they  glide  down  the  serpentine  bends 
of  the  Thames. 

Anything  anywhere  was  a  mine  of  interest  to  Elfride, 
and  so  was  this. 

"  It  is  well  enough  now,"  said  Mrs.  Swancourt,  after 
they  had  passed  the  Nore,  "but  I  can't  say  I  have  cared  for 
my  voyage  hitherto."  For  being  now  in  the  open  sea  a 
slight  breeze  had  sprung  up,  which  cheered  her  as^  well  as 
her  two  younger  companions.  But  unfortunately  it  had  a 
reverse  effect  upon  the  vicar,  who,  after  turning  a  sort  of 
'apricot-jam  color,  interspersed  with  dashes  of  raspberry 
ditto,  pleaded  indisposition,  and  vanished  from  their  sight. 

The  afternoon  wore  on.  Mrs.  Swancourt  kindly  sat 
apart  by  herself  reading,  and  the  betrothed  pair  were  left  to 
themselves.  Elfride  clung  trustingly  to  Knight's  arm,  and 
proud  was  she  to  walk  with  him  up  and  down  the  deck,  or 
to  go  forward,  and  leaning  with  him  against  the  forecastle 
rails,  watch  the  setting  sun  gradually  withdrawing  itself 
over  their  stern  into  a  huge  bank  of  livid  cloud  with  golden 
edges  that  rose  to  meet  it. 

She  was  childishly  full  of  life  and  spirits,  though  in 
walking  up  and  down  with  him  before  the  other  passengers, 
and  getting  noticed  by  them,  she  was  at  starting  rather  con- 
fused, it  being  the  first  time  she  had  shown  herself  so  open- 
ly under  that  kind  of  protection.  "  I  expect  they  are  envi- 
ous and  saying  things  about  us,  don't  you  ?  "  she  would 
whisper  to  Knight,  with  a  stealthy  smile. 

"  O,  no,"  he  would  answer  unconcernedly.  "  Why  should 
they  envy  us,  and  what  can  they  say  ? " 

"Not  any  harm,  of  course',"  Elfride  replies  ;  "  except 
such  as  this  r*  How  happy  those  two  are!  she  is  proud 
enough  now.'  What  makes  it  worse,"  she  continued,  in  the 
extremity  of  confidence,  "  I  heard  those  two  cricketing  men 
say  just  now,  '  She's  the  nobbiest  girl  on  the  be  at.'  But  I 
don't  mind  it,  j^ou  know,  Harry." 

"  I  should  hardly  have  supposed  you  did,  even  if  you 
had  not  told  me,"  said  Knight,  with  great  blandness. 

She  was  never  tired  of  asking  her  lover  questions  and 
admiring  his    answers,  good,  bad,    or  indifferent,  as   they 


2Q2  ^  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

might  be.  The  evening  grew  dark  and  the  night  came  on, 
and  lights  shone  upon  them  from  the  horizon  and   the  sky. 

''  Now  look  there  ahead  of  us,  at  that  halo  in  the  air,  of 
silvery  brightness.  Watch  it,  and  you  will  see  what  it 
comes  to. 

She  watched  for  a  few  minutes,  when  two  white  lights 
emerged  from  the  side  of  a  hill,  and  showed  themselves  to 
be  the  origin  of  the  halo. 

"  What  a  dazzling  brilliance  !     What  do  they  mark  ?  '* 

"  The  South  Foreland  ;  they  were  previously  covered 
by  the  cliff." 

"  What  is  that  level  line  of  little  sparkles— a  town,  I 
suppose  ?  " 

"  That's  Dover." 

All  this  time,  and  later,  soft  sheet  lightning  expanded 
from  a  cloud  in  their  path,  enkindling  their  faces  as  they 
paced  up  and  down,  shining  over  the  water,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment, showing  the  horizon  as  a  keen  line. 

Elfride  slept  soundly  that  night.  Her  first  thought  the 
next  morning  was  the  thrilling  one  that  Knight  v/as  as  close 
at  hand  as  when  they  were  at  home  at  Endelstow,  and  her 
first  sight,  on  looking  out  of  the  cabin  window,  was  the  per- 
pendicular face  of  Beachy  Head,  gleaming  white  in  a  bril- 
liant six-o'clock-in-the-morning  sun.  This  fair  daybreak, 
however,  soon  changed  its  aspect.  A  cold  wind  and  a  pale 
mist  descended  upon  the  sea,  and  seemed  to  threaten  a 
dreary  day. 

When  they  were  nearing  Southampton,  Mrs.  Swancourt 
came  to  say  that  her  husband  was  so  ill  that  he  v/ished  to 
be  put  on  shore  here,  and  left  to  do  the  remainder  of  the 
journey  by  land.  "  He  will  be  perfectly  well  directly  he 
treads  firm  ground  again.  W^hich  shall  we  do — go  with  him, 
or  finfsh  our  voyage  as  we  intended  ?  " 

Elfride  was  comfortably  housed  under  an  umbrella  which 
Knight  was  holding  over  her  to  keep  off  the  wind.  "  O, 
don't  let  us  go  on  shore!"  she  said  with  dismay.  "It 
would  be  such  a  pity  ! " 

"That's  very  fine,"  said  Mrs.  Swancourt  archly,  as  to  a 
child.  "  See,  the  wind  has  increased  her  color,  the  sea  her 
appetite  and  spirits,  and  somebody  her  happiness.  Yes,  it 
would  be  a  pity,  certainly." 


A  PAIR  OF  BJ  UE  EYES.  293 

"  'lis  my  misfortune  to  be  always  spoken  to  from  a  pe- 
de.'Ual,"  sighed  Elfride. 

"  Well  we  will  do  as  you  like,  Mrs.  Swancourt,"  said 
Knight,  "but—" 

'^  I  myself  would  rather  remain  on  board,"  interrupted 
the  elder  lady.  ^' And  Mr.  Swancourt  particularly  wishes 
to  go  by  himself     So  that  shall  settle  the  matter." 

The  vicar,  now  a  drab  color,  was  put  ashore,  and  became 
as  well  as  ever  forthwith. 

Elfride,  sitting  alone  in  a  retired  part  of  the  vessel,  saw 
a  woman  walk  aboard  among  the  very  latest  arrivals  at  this 
port.  She  was  clothed  in  black  silk,  and  carried  a  dark 
shawl  upon  her  arm.  The  woman,  without  looking  around 
her,  turned  to  the  quarter  allotted  to  the  second-cabin  passen- 
gers. All  the  carnation  Mrs.  Swancourt  had  complimented 
h?r  step-daughter  upon  possessing  left  Elfride's  cheeks,  and 
sf  t  trembled  visibly. 

She  ran  to  the  other  side  of  the  boat,  where  Mrs.  Swan- 
court was  standing. 

"  Let  us  go  home  by  railway  with  papa,  after  all,"  she 
pleaded  earnestly.  "  I  would  rather  go  with  him — shall  Vv'e  ?  " 

Mrs.  Swancourt  looked  around  for  a  moment,  as  if  un- 
able to  decide.  "  Ah,"  she  exclaimed,  "  it  is  too  late  now. 
Why  did  not  you  say  so  befpre,  when  we  had  plenty  of  time  ? " 

The  Juliet  had  at  that  minute  let  go,  the  engines  had 
started,  and  they  were  gliding  slowly  away  from  the  quay. 
There  was  no  help  for  it  but  to  remain,  unless  the  Juliet 
could  be  made  to  put  back,  and  that  would  create  a  great 
disturbance.  Elfride  gave  up  the  idea  and  submitted 
quietly.     Her  happiness  was  sadly  mutilated  now. 

The  woman  whose  presence  had  so  disturbed  her  was 
Mrs.  Jethway.  She  seemed  to  haunt  Elfride  like  a  shadow. 
After  several  minutes'  vain  endeavor  to  account  for  any  de- 
sign Mrs.  Jethway  could  have  in  watching  her,  Elfride  de- 
cided to  think  that  the  encounter  was  accidental.  She  re 
membered  that  the  widow  in  her  restlessness  was  often 
visiting  the  village  near  Southampton  which  was  her  origi- 
nal home,  and  it  was  possible  that  she  chose  water-transit 
with  the  idea  of  saving  expense. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Elfride  ? "  Knight  inquired,  stand- 
ing before  her. 


294 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


"Nothing  more  than  that  I  am  rather  depressed." 

"  I  don't  much  wonder  at  it ;  that  wharf  was  depressing. 
We  seemed  underneath  and  inferior  to  everything  around 
US-  But  we  shall  be  in  the  sea  breeze  again  soon,  and  that 
will  freshen  you,  dear." 

The  evening  closed  in  and  dusk  increased  as  they  made 
way  down  Southampton  Water  and  through  the  Solent. 
Elfride's  disturbance  of  mind  was  such  that  her  light  spirits 
of  the  foregoing  four-and-twenty  hours  had  entirely  desert- 
ed her.  The  weather  too  had  grown  more  gloomy,  for 
though  the  showers  of  the  morning  had  ceased,  the  sky  was 
covered  more  closely  than  ever  with  dense  leaden  clouds. 
How  beautiful  was  the  sunset  when  they  rounded  the  North 
Foreland  the  previous  evening !  now  it  was  impossible  to 
tell  within  half  an  hour  the  time  of  the  luminary's  going  down. 
Knight  led  her  about,  and  being  by  this  time  accustomed 
to  her  sudden  changes  of  mood,  overlooked  the  necessity 
of  a  cause  in  regarding  the  conditions — impressionableness 
and  elasticity. 

Elfride  looked  stealthily  to  the  other  end  of  the  vessel 
Mrs.  Jethway  was  sitting  at  the  stern — her  eyes  steadily  re 
garding  Elfride. 

"Let  us  go  to  the  forepart,"  she  said  quickly  to  Knight. 
"  See  there — the  man  is  fixing  the  lights  for  the  night." 

Knight  assented,  and  after  watching  the  operation  of 
fixing  the  red  and  the  green  lights  on  the  port  and  starboard 
bows,  and  the  hoisting  of  the  white  light  to  the  masthead, 
he  walked  up  and  down  with  her  till  the  increase  of  wind 
rendered  promenading  difficult.  Elfride's  eyes  were  occa- 
sionally to  be  found  furtively  gazing  abaft,  to  learn  if  her 
enemy  still  sat  there.     Nobody  was  visible  now. 

"  Shall  we  go  below  ?  "  said  Knight,  seeing  that  the 
deck  was  nearly  deserted. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  If  you  will  kindly  get  me  a  rug  from 
Mrs.  Swancourt,  I  should  like,  if  you  don't  mind,  to  stay 
here."  She  had  recently  fancied  Mrs.  Jethway  might  be  a 
first-class  passenger,  and  dreaded  meeting  her  by  accident. 

Knight  appeared  with  the  rug,  and  they  sat  down  be- 
hind a  weather-cloth  on  the  windward  side,  just  as  the  two 
red  eyes  of  the  Needles  glared  upon  them  from  the  gloom, 
their  pointed  summits  rising  like  shadowy  phantom  figures 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  295 

against  the  sky.  It  became  necessary  to  go  below  tu  an 
eight-o'clock  meal  of  nondescript  kind,  and  Elfride  was  im- 
mensely relieved  at  finding  no  sign  of  Mrs.  Jethway  there. 
They  again  ascended  and  remained  above  till  Mrs.  Snew- 
3011  staggered  up  to  them  with  the  message  that  Mrs.  Swan- 
court  thought  it  was  time  for  Elfride  to  come  below. 
Knight  accompanied  her  down,  and  returned  again  to  pass 
a  little  more  time  on  deck. 

Elfride  partly  undressed  and  lay  down,  and  soon  be- 
came unconscious,  though  her  sleep  was  light.  How  long 
she  had  lain,  she  knew  not,  when  by  slow  degrees  she  be- 
came cognizant  of  a  whispering  in  her  ear. 

"  You  are  well  on  with  him,  I  can  see.  Well,  provoke 
me  now,  but  my  time  will  come,  you  will  find."  That  was 
the  utterance,  or  words  to  that  effect. 

Elfride  became  broad  awake,  and  terrified.  She  knew 
the  words  could  be  only  those  of  one  person,  and  that  per- 
son the  widow  Jethway. 

The  lamp  had  gone  out  and  the  place  was  in  darkness. 
In  the  next  berth  she  could  hear  her  step-mother  breathing 
heavily,  farther  on  Snewson  breathing  more  heavily.  These 
were  the  only  other  legitimate  occupants  of  the  cabin,  and 
Mrs.  Jethway  must  have  stealthily  come  in  by  some  means 
and  retreated  again,  or  else  she  had  entered  an  empty 
berth  next  Snewson's.  The  fear  that  this  was  the  case  in- 
creased Elfride's  perturbation,  till  it  assumed  the  dimen- 
sions of  a  certainty,  for  how  could  a  stranger  from  the 
other  end  of  the  ship  possibly  contrive  to  get  in  ?  Could 
•t  have  been  a  dream  ?     Impossible. 

Elfride  raised  herself  higher  and  looked  out  of  the  win- 
c:()w.  There  was  the  sea,  floundering  and  rushing  against 
ine  ship's  side,  just  by  her  head,  and  thence  stretching 
away,  dim  and  moaning,  into  an  expanse  of  indistinctness  ; 
and' far  beyond  all  this  two  placid  lights  like  rayless  stars. 
No^  almost  fearing  to  turn  her  face  inwards  again,  lest 
Mrs.  Jethway  should  appear  at  her  elbow,  Elfride  medi- 
"ated  whether  or  not  to  call  Snewson  to  kedf)  her  company. 
The  "  four  bells "  sounded,  and  she  heard  voices,  which 
gave  her  a  little  courage.  It  was  not  worth  while  to  call 
Snewson. 

At  any  rate  Elfride  could  not  stay  there  panting  longer, 


^1^6  ^  P^^R  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

at  the  risk  of  being  again  disturbed  by  that  dreadful  whis- 
pering. So  wrapping  herself  up  hurrie'dly  she  emerged 
into  the  passage,  and  by  the  aid  of  a  faint  light  burning  at 
the  entrance  to  the  saloon  found  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and 
ascended  to  the  deck.  Dreary  the  place  was  in  the  ex- 
treme. It  seemed  a  new  spot  altogether  in  contrast  with 
its  daytime  self.  She  could  see  the  glow-worm  light  from 
the  compass,  and  the  dim  outline  of  the  man  at  the  wheel ; 
also  a  form  at  the  bows.  Not  another  soul  was  apparent 
from  stem  to  stern. 

Yes,  there  were  two  more — ^by  the  bulwarks.  One 
proved  to  be  her  Harry,  the  other  the  mate.  She  was  glad 
indeed,  and  on  drawing  closer  found  they  were  holding 
a  low  slow  chat  about  nautical  affairs.  She  ran  up  and 
slipped  her  hand  through  Knight's  arm,  partly  for  love, 
partly  for  stability. 

"  Elfie  !  not  asleep?"  said  Knight,  after  moving  a  few 
steps  aside  with  her. 

"  No  :  I  cannot  sleep.  May  I  stay  here?  It  is  so  dis- 
mal down  there,  and — and  I  was  afraid.  Where  are  we 
now?"     - 

"Due  south  of  Portland  Bill.  Those  are  the  lights 
abeam  of  us  :  look.  A  terrible  spot,  that,  on  a  stormy 
night.  And  do  you  see  a  very  small  light  that  dips  and 
rises  to  the  right  ?  That's  a  light-ship  on  the  dangerous 
shoal  called  the  Shambles,  where  many  a  good  boat  has 
gone  to  pieces.  Between  it  and  ourselves  is  the  Race — a 
place  where  antagonistic  currents  meet  and  form  whirl- 
pools— a  spot  which  is  rough  in  the  smoothest  weather, 
and  terrific  in  a  wind.  That  dark  dreary  horizon  we  just 
discern  to  the  left  is  the  West  Bay,  terminated  landwards 
by  the  Chesil  Beach." 

"  What  time  is  it,  Harry?  " 

"  Just  past  two." 

"  Are  you  going  below  ?  " 

*'  O  no  ;  not  to-night.     I  prefer  pure  air." 

She  fancied  he  might  be  displeased  with  her  for  coming 
to  him  at  this  unearthly  hour.  "  I  should  like  to  stay  here 
too,  if  you  will  pIIow  me,"  she  said  timidly.  "  I  want  to 
ask  you  things." 

"  Allow  you,   Elfie  1 "    said    Knight,  putting   his   arm 


A  FAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


297 


round  her  and  drawing  her  closer.  *'  I  am  twice  as  happ)i 
with  you  by  my  side.  Yes  :  we  will  stay,  and  watch  the 
approach  of  day." 

So  they  again  sought  out  the  sheltered  nook,  and  sit- 
ting down  wrapped  themselves  in  the  rug  as  before. 

"  What  v;ere  you  going  to  ask  me.?''  he  inquired,  as 
they  undulated  up  and  down. 

"  O,  it  was  not  much — perhaps  a  thing  I  ought  not  to 
ask,"  she  said  hesitatingly.  Her  sudden  wish  had  really 
been  to  discover  at  once  whether  he  had  ever  before  been 
engaged  to  be  married.  If  he  had,  she  would  make  that  a 
ground  for  telling  him  a  little  of  her  conduct  with  Stephen. 
Mrs.  Jethway's  words  had  so  depressed  the  girl  that  she 
herself  now  painted  her  flight  in  the  darkest  colors,  and 
longed  to  ease  her  burdened  mind  by  an  instant  confession. 
If  Knight  had  ever  been  imprudent  himself,  he  might,  she 
hoped,  forgive  all. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you,"  she  went  on,  "  if — you  had  ever 
been  engaged  before:"  she  added  tremulously,  "1  hope 
you  have — 1  mean,  I  don't  mind  at  all  if  you  have." 

"No,  I  never  was,"  Knight  instantly  and  heartily  re- 
plied. "  Elfride  " — and  there  was  a  certain  happy  pride  in 
his  tone — "  I  am  twelve  years  older  than  you,  and  I  have 
been  about  the  world,  and  into  society,  and  you  have  not. 
And  yet  I  am  not  so  unfit  for  you  as  strict-thinking  people 
might  imagine,  who  would  assume  the  difference  in  age  to 
signify  most  surely  an  equal  addition  to  my  practice  in 
love-making." 

Elfride  shivered. 

"  You  are  cold — is  the  wind  too  much  for  you .? " 

"No,"  she  said  gloomily.  The  belief  which  had  been 
her  sheet-anchor  in  hoping  for  forgiveness  had  proved  false. 
This  account  of  the  exceptional  nature  of  his  experience,  a 
matter  which  would  have  set  her  rejoicing  two  years  ago, 
chilled  her  now  like  a  frost. 

"  You  didn't  mind  my  asking  you  ?  "  she  continued. 

"  O,  no— not  at  all." 

"And  have  you  never  kissed  many  ladies?"  she  whis- 
pered, hoping  he  would  say  a  hundred  at  the  least. 

The  time,  the  circumstances,  and  the  scene  were  such 
as  to  draw  confidences  from  the  most  reserved.     "  Elfride," 


298  ^  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES. 

whispered  Knight  in  reply,  "it  is  strange  you  should  have 
asked  that  question.  But  I'll  answer  it,  though  I  have 
never  told  such  a  thing  before.  I  have  never  given  a  wo- 
man a  kiss  in  my  life,  except  yourself  and  my  mother." 
The  man  of  two-and-thirty  with  the  experienced  mind 
warmed  all  over  with  a  boy's  ingenuous  shame  as  he  made 
the  confession. 

"  What,  not  one  t "  she  faltered. 

"No ;  not  one." 

"  How  very  strange  !  " 

"  Yes,  the  reverse  experience  may  be  commoner.  And 
yet,  to  those  who  have  observed  their  own  sex,  as  I  have, 
my  case  is  not  remarkable.  Men  about  town  are  women's 
favorites — that's  the  postulate — and  superficial  people  don't 
think  far  enough  to  see  that  there  may  be  exceptions." 

"  Are  you  proud  of  it,  Harry?  " 

"  No,  indeed.  Of  late  years  I  have  wished  I  had  gone 
my  ways  and  trod  out  my  measure  like  lighter-hearted  men. 
I  have  thought  of  how  many  happy  experiences  I  may  have 
lost  through  never  going  to  woo." 

"  Then  why  did  you  hold  aloof.? " 

"I  cannot  say.  1  don't  think  it  was  my  nature  to: 
circumstances  hindered  me,  perhaps.  I  have  regretted  it 
for  another  reason.  This  great  remissness  of  mine  has  had 
its  effect  upon  me.  The  older  I  have  grown,  the  more  dis- 
tinctly have  I  perceived  that  it  was  absolutely  preventing 
me  from  liking  any  woman  who  was  not  as  unused  as  I  \ 
and  I  gave  up  the  expectation  of  finding  a  nineteenth-cen- 
tury young  lady  in  my  own  raw  state.  Then  I  found  you, 
Elfride,  and  I  felt  for  the  first  time  that  my  fastidiousness 
was  a  blessing.  And  it  helped  to  make  me  worthy  of  you. 
I  felt  at  once  that,  differing  as  we  did  in  other  experiences, 
in  this  matter  I  resembled  you.  "  Well,  aren't  you  glad  to 
hear  it,  Elfride?" 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  she  answered  in  a  forced  voice.  "  But  I 
always  had  thought  that  men  made  lots  of  engagements  be- 
fore they  married — especially  if  they  don't  marry  very 
young." 

"  So  all  women  think,  I  suppose — and  rightly,  indeed, 
of  the  majority  of  bachelors,  as  I  said  before^  But  an  ap- 
preciable minority  of  slow-coach  men  do  not — and  it  makes 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  299 

them  very  awkward  when  they  do  come  to  the  point.    How- 
ever, it  didn't  matter  in  my  case." 

"  Why  ? "  she  asked  uneasily. 

"  Because  you  know  even  less  of  love-making  and  matri- 
monial pre-arrangement  than  I,  and  so  you  can't  draw  in- 
vidious comparisons  if  I  ao  my  engaging  improperly." 

''  I  think  you  do  it  beautifully." 

"  Thank  you,  dear.  But,"  continued  Knight  laughing- 
ly, "  your  opinion  is  not  that  of  an  expert,  which  alone  is 
of  value." 

Had  she  answered,  "Yes,  it  is,"  half  as  strongly  as  she 
felt  it.  Knight  might  have  been  a  little  astonished. 

»'  If  you  had  been  engaged  to  be  married  before,"  he  went 
on,  "  I  expect  your  opinion  of  my  addresses  would  be  dif- 
ferent.    But  then,  I  should  not — " 

"  Should  not  what,  Harry  ?  " 

"  O,  I  was  merely  going  to  say  that  in  that  case  I  should 
never  have  given  myself  the  pleasure  of  proposing  to  you, 
since  your  freedom  from  that  experience  was  your  attrac- 
tion, darling." 

"  You  are  severe  on  woman,  are  you  not  ? " 

"  No,  I  think  not.  I  had  a  right  to  please  my  taste, 
and  that  was  for  untried  lips.  .Other  men  than  those  of 
my  sort  acquire  the  taste  as  they  get  older — but  don't  find 
an  Elfride— " 

•    "  What  horrid  sound  is  that  we  hear  when  we  pitch  for- 
ward?" 

"  Only  the  screv/— don't  find  an  Elfride  as  I  did.  To 
think  that  I  should  have  discovered  such  an  unseen  flower 
down  there  in  the  W^est — to  whom  a  man  is  as  much  as  a 
multitude  to  some,  and  a  trip  down  the  English  Channel 
like  a  voyage  round  the  world  !  " 

"  And  would  you,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  tremu- 
lous, "have  given  up  a  sweetheart — if  you  had  become  en- 
gaged to  her — and  then  found  she  had  had  o?ie  kiss  before 
yours — and  would  you  have — gone  away  and  left  her  ? " 

"  One  kiss — no,  hardly  for  that." 

"  Two  ?  " 

"  Well— I  could  hardly  say  inventorially  like  that.  ^  Too 
much  of  that  sort  of  thing  certainly  would  make  me  dislike 
%  woman.    But  let  us  confine  our  attention  to  ourselves,  not 


300 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


go  thinking  of  might-have-beens."  So  Elfride  had  allowed 
her  thoughts  to  "dally  with  false  surmise,"  and  every  one 
of  Knight's  words  fell  upon  her  like  a  weight.  After  this 
they  were  silent  for  a  long  time,  gazing  upon  the  black 
mysterious  sea,  and  hearing  the  strange  voice  of  the  rest- 
less wind.  A  rocking  to  and  fro  in  the  wind,  when  it  is  not 
too  violent  and  cold,  produces  a  soothing  effect  even  upon 
the  most  highly-wrought  mind.  Elfride  slowly  sank  against 
Knight,  and  looking  down,  he  found  by  her  soft  regular 
breathing  that  she  had  fallen  asleep.  Not  wishing  to  dis- 
turb her,  he  continued  still,  and  took  an  intense  pleasure  in 
supporting  her  warm  young  form  as  it  rose  and  fell  with  her 
every  breath.  It  was  pleasant  to  realize  the  implicit  trust 
she  placed  in  him,  and  to  think  of  the  charming  innocence 
of  one  who  could  sink  to  sleep  in  so  simple  and  unceremo- 
nious a  manner.  More  than  all,  the  musing  unpractical  stu- 
dent felt  the  immense  responsibility  he  was  taking  upon 
himself  by  becoming  the  protector  and  guide  of  such  a 
trustful  creature.  The  quiet  slumber  of  her  soul  lent  a 
quietness  to  his  own.  Presently  her  mutterings  became 
distinct : 

"  Don't  tell  him — he  will  not  love  me.  ...  I  did  not 
mean  any  disgrace — indeed  I  did  not,  so  don't  tell  Harry. 
We  were  going  to  be  married — that  was  why  I  ran  away. 
....  And  he  says  he  will  not  have  a  kissed  woman.  .  .  . 
And  if  you  tell  him  he  will  go  away,  and  I  shall  die.  I 
pray  have  mercy — O  !  " 

Elfride  started  up  wildly. 

The  previous  moment  a  musical  ding-dong  had  spread 
into  the  air  from  their  right  hand,  and  awakened  her. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  exclaimed  in  terror. 

*'  Only  '  eight  bells,'  "  said  Knight  soothingly.  "  Don't 
be  frightened,  little  bird,  you  are  «afe.  What  have  you 
been  dreaming  about?  " 

"  1  can't  tell,  I  can't  tell ! "  she  said,  with  a  shudder. 
"  O,  I  don't  know  what  to  do  !  " 

"  Stay  quietly  with  me.  We  shall  soon  see  the  dawn 
now.  Look,  the  morning  star  is  lovely  over  there.  The 
clouds  have  completely  cleared  off  while  you  have  been 
sleeping.     What  have  you  been  dreaming  of?" 

"  A  woman  in  our  parish." 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


301 


*'  Don't  you  like  her  ?  " 

'*  I  don't.     She  doesn't  bke  me.     Where  are  we  ?  " 

"  About  south  of  Exeter." 

Knight  said  no  more  on  the  words  of  her  dream.  They 
watched  the  sky  till  Elfride  grew  calm,  and  the  dawn  ap- 
peared. It  was  mere  wan  lightness  first.  Then  the  wind 
blew  in  a  changed  spirit,  and  died  away  to  a  breeze.  The 
star  dissolved  into  the  day. 

"That's  how  I  should  like  to  die,"  said  Elfride, rising 
from  her  seat  and  leaning  over  the  bulwark  to  watch  the 
star's  last  expiring  gleam. 

*'  As  the  lines  say,"  Knight  replied, 

"  To  set  as  sets  the  morning  star,  which  goes 
Not  down  behind  the  darkened  west,  nor  hides 
Obscured  among  the  tempests  of  the  sky, 
But  melts  away  into  the  light  of  heaven.'  " 

"  O,  Other  people  have  thought  the  same  thing,  have 
they.?  That's  always  the  case  with  my  originalities — they 
are  original  to  nobody  but  myself." 

"  Not  only  the  case  with  yours.  When  I  was  a  young 
hand  at  reviewing  I  used  to  find  that  a  frightful  pitfall — di- 
lating upon  subjects  I  met  with  which  were  novelties  to 
me,  and  finding  afterwards  they  had  been  exhausted  by  the 
thinking  world  when  I  was  in  pinafores." 

"  That  is  delightful.  Whenever  I  find  you  have  done  a 
foolish  thing  I  am  glad,  because  it  seems  to  bring  you  a 
little  nearer  to  me,  who  have  done  many."  And  Elfride 
thought  again  of  her  enemy  asleep  under  the  deck  thev 
trod. 

All  up  the  coast,  prominences  singled  themselves  out 
from  recesses.  Then  a  rosy  sky  spread  over  the  eastern 
sea  and  behind  the  low  line  of  land,  flinging  its  livery  in 
dashes  upon  the  thin  airy  clouds  in  that  direction.  Every 
projection  on  the  land  seemed  now  so  many  fingers  anx- 
ious to  catch  a  little  of  the  liquid  light  thrown  so  prodi- 
gally over  the  sky,  and  after  a  fantastic  time  of  lustrous 
yellows  in  the  east,  the  higher  elevations  along  the  shore 
were  flooded  with  the  same  hues.  The  oluff  and  bare  con- 
tours of  Start  Point  caughtthe  brightest,  earliest  glow  of 
all,  and  so  also  did  the  sides  of  its  white  light-house,  perch- 


302 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 


ed  upon  a  shelf  in  its  precipitous  front  like  a  mediaeval 
saint  in  .i  niche.  Their  lofty  neighbor  Bolt  Head  on  the 
left  remained  as  yet  ungilded,  and  retained  its  grey. 

Then  up  came  the  sun,  as  it  were  in  jerks,  just  to  sea- 
ward of  the  easternmost  point  of  land,  flinging  out  a 
Jacob's-ladder  path  of  light  from  itself  to  Elfride  and 
Knight,  and  deluging  them  with  rays  in  a  few  minutes. 
The  inferior  dignitaries  of  the  shore— Froward  Point,  Berry 
Head,  and  Prawle — all  had  acquired  their  share  of  the  illu- 
mination ere  this,  and  at  length  the  very  smallest  protuber- 
ance of  wave,  cliff,  or  inlet,  even  to  the  innermost  recesses 
of  the  lovely  valley  of  the  Dart,  had  its  portion  ;  and  sun- 
light, now  the  common  possession  of  all,  ceased  to  be  the 
wonderful  and  coveted  thing  it  had  been  a  short  half-hour 
before. 

After  breakfast,  Plymouth  arose  into  view,  and  grew 
more  distinct  to  their  nearing  vision,  the  Breakwater  ap- 
pearing like  a  streak  of  phosphoric  light  upon  the  surface 
of  the  sea.  Elfride  looked  furtively  around  for  Mrs.  Jeth- 
way,  but  could  discern  no  sign  of  her  form.  Afterwards, 
in  the  bustle  of  landing,  she  looked  again  with  the  same  re- 
sult, by  which  time  the  woman  had  probably  glided  upon 
the  quay  unobserved.  Expanding  with  a  sense  of  relief, 
Elfride  waited  while  Knight  looked  to  their  luggage,  and 
then  saw  her  father  approaching  through  the  crowd,  twirl- 
ing his  walking-stick  to  catch  their  attention.  Elbowing 
their  way  to  him  they  all  entered  the  town,  which  smiled- 
as  sunny  a  smile  upon  Elfride  as  it  had  done  between  one 
and  two  years  earlier,  when  she  had  entered  it  at  precisely 
the  same  hour  as  the  bride  elect  of  Stephen  Smith. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

"VASSAL  UNTO   LOVE." 

ELFRIDE  clung  closer  to  Knight  as  day  succeeded 
day.  Whatever  else  might  admit  of  question,  there 
could  be  no  dispute  that  the  allegiance  she  bore  him  ab- 
sorbed her  whole  soul  and  existence.  A  greater  than 
Stephen  had  arisen,  and  she  had  left  all  to  follow  him. 

The  unreserved  girl  was  never  chary  of  letting  her  lov- 
er discover  how  much  she  admired  him.  She  never  held 
an  idea  in  opposition  to  any  one  of  his,  or  insisted  on  any 
point,  showed  any  independence,  or  held  her  own  on  any 
subject.  His  lightest  whim  she  respected  and  obeyed  as 
law,  and  if,  expressing  her  opinion  on  a  matter,  he  took  up 
the  subject  and  differed  from  her  she  instantly  threw  down 
her  own  opinion  as  wrong  and  untenable.  Even  her  am- 
biguities and  espiegleries  were  but  media  of  the  same  mani- 
festation ;  acted  charades  embodying  the  words  of  her 
prototype,  the  tender  and  susceptible  daughter-in-law  of 
Naomi :  "Let  me  find  favor  in  thy  sight,  my  lord  ;  for  that 
thou  hast  comforted  me,  and  for  that  thou  hast  spoken 
friendly  unto  thine  handmaid." 

She  was  syringing  the  plants  one  wet  day  in  the  green- 
house. Knight  was  sitting  under  a  great  passion  flower 
observing  the  scene,  and  sometimes  looking  out  at  the  rain 
from  the  sky,  and  a  secondary  rain  of  larger  drops  from 
trees  and  shrubs,  which  drops  had  previously  hung  from 
the  twigs  like  small  silver  fruit. 

"  I  must  give  you  something  to  make  you  think  of  me 
during  this  autumm  at  your  chambers,"  she  was  saying. 
"  What  shall  it  be  ?  Portraits  do  more  harm  than  good, 
by  selecting  the  worst  expression  of  which  your  face  is  ca- 
pable.    Hair  is  unlucky.     And  you  don't  like  jev;elry." 

"  Something  which  shall  bring  back  to  my  mind   the 


304  ^  P"^^^  0^  BLUE  EVES. 

many  scenes  we  have  enacted  in  this  conservatoiy.  I  see 
what  I  should  prize  very  much.  That  dwarf  myrtle-tree  in 
the  pot,  which  you  have  been  so  carefully  tending." 

Elfride  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  myrtle.^ 

"  I  can  carry  it  comfortably  in  my  hat-box,"  said 
Knight.  "  And  I  will  put  it  in  my  window,  and  so,  it  be- 
ing always  before  my  eyes,  I  shall  think  of  you  continu-* 
ally." 

Now  it  so  happened  that  the  myrtle  Knight  unluckily 
had  singled  out  had  a  peculiar  beginning  and  history.  It 
had  originally  been  a  twig  worn  in  Stephen  Smith's  button- 
hole, and  he  had  taken  it  thence,  stuck  it  into  the  pot, 
and  told  her  that  if  it  grew,  she  was  to  take  care  of  it,  and 
keep  it  in  remembrance  of  him  when  he  was  far  away. 

She  looked  wistfully  at  the  flower,  and  a  sense  of  fair- 
ness to  Smith's  memory  caused  her  a  pang  of  regret  that 
Knight  should  have  asked  for  that  very  one.  It  seemed 
exceeding  a  common  heartlessness  to  let  it  go. 

*'  Is  there  not  anything  you  like  better  ? "  she  said. 
"  That  is  only  an  ordinary  myrtle." 

"No  :  I  am  fond  of  myrtle."  Seeing  that  she  did  not 
take  kindly  to  the  idea,  he  said  again,  "  Why,  do  you  ob- 
ject to  my  having  that?" 

"  O,  no — I  don't  object  precisely — it  was  a  feeling — 
Ah,  here's  another  cutting  lately  struck,  and  just  as  small 
— of  a  better  kind,  and  with  prettier  leaves — myrlus  mi- 
crophylla." 

"That  will  do  nicely.  Let  it  be  put  in  my  room,  that 
I  may  not  forget  it.     What  romance  attaches  to  the  other  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  gift  to  me." 

The  subject  then  dropped.  Knight  thought  no  more 
of  the  matter  till,  on  entering  his  bedroom  in  the  evening 
he  found  the  second  myrtle  placed  upon  his  dressing-table 
as  he  had  directed.  He  stood  for  a  moment  admiring  the 
fresh  appearance  of  the  leaves  by  candlelight,  and  then  he 
thought  of  the  transaction  of  the  day. 

Male  lovers  as  well  as  female  can  be  spoiled  by  too 
much  kindness,  and  Elfride's  uniform  submissiveness  had 
given  Knight  a  rather  exacting  manner  at  crises,  attached 
to  her  as  he  was.  "  Why  should  she  have  refused  the  one 
I  first  chose  ? "  he  now  asked  himself.     Even  such  slig^:^ 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EVES. 


30s 


opposition  as  she  had  shown  then  was  exceptional  enough 
to  make  itself  noticeable.  He  was  not  vexed  with  her  in 
the  least:  the  mere  variation  of  her  way  to-day  from  her 
usual  ways  kept  him  musing  on  the  subject,  because  it  per- 
plexed him.  "  It  was  a  gift" — those  were  her  words. 
Admitting  it  to  be  a  gift,  he  thought  she  could  hardly 
value  a  friend  more  than  him,  and  giving  the  flower  into 
his  charge  would  have  made  no  difference.  "  Except,  in- 
deed, it  was  the  gift  of  a  lover,"  he  murmured. 

"I  wonder  if  Elfride  ever  has  had  a  lover  before?"  he 
said  aloud,  as  a  new  idea,  quite.  This  and  companion 
thoughts  were  enough  to  occupy  him  completely  till  he  fell 
asleep — rather  later  than  usual. 

The  next  day,  when  they  were  again  alone,  he  said  to 
hei  rather  suddenly : 

*'  Do  you  love  me  more  or  less,  Elfie,  for  what  I  told 
you  on  board  the  steamer .? " 

"You  told  me  so  many  things,"  she  returned,  lifting 
her  eyes  to  his  and  smiling. 

"I  mean  the  confession  you  coaxed  out  of  me— that  I 
had  never  had  a  sweetheart  before." 

"  It  is  a  satisfaction,  I  suppose,  to  be  the  first  in  youi 
heart,"  she  said  to  him,  with  an  attempt  to  continue  her 
smiling. 

"  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  question  now,"  said  Knight, 
somewhat  awkwardly.  "  I  only  ask  it  in  a  whimsical  way, 
you  know ;  not  with  great  seriousness,  Elfride.  You  may 
think  it  odd,  perhaps." 

Elfride  tried  desperately  to  keep  the  coicr  in  her  face. 
She  could  not,  though  distressed  to  think  that  getting  pale 
showed  consciousness  of  deeper  guilt  than  merely  getting 
red. 

"O,  no — I  shall  not  think  that,"  she  said,  because 
obliged  to  say  something  to  fill  the  pause  which  followed 
her  questioner's  remark. 

"It  is  this:  have  you  ever  had  a  lover?  I  am  almost 
sure  you  have  not ;  but,  have  you  ?  " 

"Not,  as  it  were,  a  lover;  I  mean,  not  worth  mention- 
ing, Harry,"  she  faltered. 

Knight,  overstrained  in  sentiment  as  he  knew  the  feel 
ing  to  be,  felt  some  sickness  of  heart 


3o6  ^  P^/i?  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

"  Still,  he  was  a  lover  ? " 

"Well,  a  sort  of  lover,  I  suppose,"  she  responded 
tardily. 

*'  A  man,  I  mean,  you  know." 
"  Yes  ;  but  only  a  mere  person,  and — " 
*'But  truly  your  lover?" 

"  Yes  ;  a  lover  certainly — he  was  that.  Yes,  he  might 
have  been  called  my  lover." 

Knight  said  nothing  to  this  for  a  minute  or  more,  and 
kept  silent  time  with  his  finger  to  the  tick  of  the  library 
clock,  in  which  room  the  colloquy  was  going  on. 

"  You  don't  mind,  Harry,  do  you  ?  "  she  said  anxiously  \ 
nestling  close  to  him,  and  watching  his  face. 

"Of  course,  I  don't  seriously  mind.  In  reason,  a  man 
cannot  object  to  such  a  trifle.  I  only  thought  you  hadn't 
— that  was  all." 

However,  one  ray  was  abstracted  from  the  glory  about 
her  head.  But  afterwards,  when  Knight  was  wandering 
by  himself  over  the  bare  and  breezy  hills,  and  meditating 
on  the  subject,  that  ray  suddenly  returned.  For  she  might 
have  had  a  lover,  and  never  have  cared  in  the  least  for 
him.  She  might  have  used  the  word  improperly,  and 
meant  "  admirer"  all  the  time.  Of  course  she  had  been 
admired;  and  one  man  might  have  made  his  admiration 
more  prominent  than  that  of  the  rest — a  very  natural  case. 

They  were  sitting  on  one  of  the  garden  seats  when  he 
found  occasion  to  put  the  question  to  the  test.  "  Did  you 
love  that  lover  or  admirer  of  yours  ever  so  little,  Elfie  ? " 

She  murmured  reluctantly,  "Yes,  I  think  I  did." 

Knight  felt  the  same  faint  touch  of  misery.  "Only  a 
very  little  ? "  he  said. 

"I  am  not  sure  how  much"  (writhing  slightly). 

"But  you  are  sure,  darling,  you  loved  him  a  little?  " 

"  I  think  I  am  sure  I  loved  him  a  little." 

*'  And  not  a  great  deal,  Elfie    " 

"  My  love  was  not  supported  by  reverence  for  his 
powers." 

"  But,  Elfride,  did  you  love  him  deeply?"  said  Knight 
restlessly. 

"  I  don't  exactly  know  how  deep  you  mean  by  deeply," 

"  That's  nonsense." 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  307 

"  You  misapprehend  ;  and  you  have  let  go  my  hand  !  " 
she  cried,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears.  "  Harry,  don't  be 
severe  with  me,  and  don't  question  m.e.  I  did  not  love 
him  as  I  do  you.  And  could  it  be  deeply  if  I  did  not 
think  him  cleverer  than  myself?  For  I  did  not.  You 
grieve  me  so  much — you  can't  think." 

*'I  will  not  say  another  word  about  it." 

"  And  you  will  not  think  about  it  either,  will  you  ?  I 
know  you  think  of  weaknesses  in  me  after  I  am  out  of  your 
sight ;  and  not  knowing  what  they  are,  I  cannot  combat 
them.  I  almost  wish  you  were  of  a  grosser  nature,  Harry  ; 
in  truth  I  do.  Or  rather,  I  wish  I  could  have  the  advan- 
tages such  a  nature  in  you  would  afford  me,  and  yet  have 
you  as  yoxi  are." 

"  What  advantages  would  they  be  ?  " 

"  Less  anxiety,  and  more  security.  Ordinary  men  are 
not  so  delicate  in  their  tastes  as  you ;  and  where  the  lover 
or  husband  is  not  fastidious  and  refined  and  of  a  deep 
nature,  things  seem  to  go  on  better,  I  fancy — as  far  as  1 
have  been  able  to  observe  the  world." 

"Yes;  I  suppose  it  is  right.  Shallowness  has  this 
advantage,  that  you  can't  be  drowned  there." 

"  But  I  think  111  have  you  as  you  are  ;  yes,  I  will !  " 
she  said  winsomely.  "The  practical  husbands  and  wives 
who  take  things  philosophically  are  very  humdrum,  are 
they  not  ?  Yes,  it  w^ould  kill  me  quite.  You  please  me 
best  as  you  are." 

"  Even  though  I  wish  you  had  never  cared  foi.  one 
before  me  ?  " 

*'  Yes.     And  you  must  not  wish  it.     Don't !  " 

"I  II  try  not  to,  Elfride." 

So  she  hoped,  but  her  heart  was  troubled.  If  he  felt 
so  deeply  on  this  point,  what  would  he  say  did  he  know 
ail,  and  see  it  as  Mrs.  Jethway  saw  it  ?  He  would  never 
make  her  the  happiest  girl  in  the  world  by  taking  her  to 
be  his  own  for  aye.  The  thought  enclosed  her  as  a  tomb 
whenever  it  presented  itself  to  her  perturbed  brain.  She 
tried  to  believe  that  Mrs.  Jethway  would  never  do  her  such 
a  cruel  wrong  as  to  increase  the  bad  appearance  of  her 
folly  by  innuendoes ;  and  concluded  that  concealment, 
having  been  begun,  must  be  persisted  in,  if  possible.     For 


3o8  ^  P^^^  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

what  he  might  consider  as  bad  as  the  fact,  was  her  previous 
concealment  of  it  by  strategy. 

But  Elfride  knew  Mrs.  Jethway  to  be  her  enemy,  and 
to  hate  her.  It  was  possible  she  might  do  her  worst. 
And  should  she  do  it,  all  would  be  over. 

Would  the  woman  hsten  to  reason,  and  be  persuaded 
not  to  ruin  one  who  had  never  intentionally  harmed  her? 

It  was  night  in  the  valley  between  Endelstow  Crags 
and  the  shore.  The  brook  which  trickled  that  way  to  the 
sea  was  distinct  in  its  murmurs  now,  and  over  the  line  of 
its  course  there  began  to  hang  a  white  ribbon  of  fog. 
Against  the  sky,  on  the  left  hand  of  the  vale,  the  black 
form  of  the  church  could  be  seen.  On  the  other  rose 
hazel  bushes,  a  few  trees,  and  where  those  were  absent, 
furze-tufts — as  tall  as  men — on  stems  nearly  as  stout  as 
timber.  The  shriek  of  some  bird  was  occasionally  heard, 
as  it  flew  terror-stricken  from  its  first  roost,  to  seek  a  new 
sleeping-place,  where  it  might  pass  the   night  unmolested. 

In  the  evening  shade,  some  way  down  the  valley,  and 
under  a  row  of  scrubby  oaks,  a  cottage  could  still  be  dis- 
cerned. It  stood  absolutely  alone.  The  house  was  rather 
large,  and  the  windows  of  some  of  the  rooms  were  nailed 
up  with  boards  on  the  outside,  which  gave  a  particularly 
deserted  appearance  to  the  whole  erection.  From  the  front 
door  an  IVregular  series  of  rough  and  misshapen  steps,  cut 
in  the  solid  rock,  led  down  to  the  edge  of  the  stream- 
let, which,  at  their  extremity,  was  hollowed  into  a  basin 
through  which  the  water  trickled.  This  was  evidently 
the  means  of  water-supply  to  the  dweller  or  dwellers  in  the 
cottage. 

A  light  footstep  was  heard  descending  from  the  higher 
slopes  of  the  hillside.  Indistinct  in  the  pathway  appeared 
a  moving  female  shape,  who  advanced  and  knocked  timidly 
at  the  door.  No  answer  being  returned,  the  knock  was  re- 
peated, with  the  same  result,  and  it  was  then  repeated  a 
third  time.     This  also  was  unsuccessful. 

From  one  of  the  only  two  windows  on  the  ground  floor 
v/hich  were  not  boarded  up  came  rays  of  light,  no  shutter  or 
curtain  obscuring  the  room  from  the  eyes  of  a  passer  on  the 
outside.     So  few  walked  that  way  after  nightfall,  that  anj 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUR  EYES.  309 

such  means  to  secure  secrecy  were  probably  deemed  un- 
necessary. 

The  inequality  of  the  rays  falling  upon  the  trees  outside 
told  that  the  light  had  its  origin  in  a  flickering  fire  only. 
The  female,  after  the  third  knocking,  stepped  a  little  to  the 
left  in  order  to  gain  a* view  of  the  interior,  and  threw  back 
*he  hood  from  her  face.  The  dancing  yellow  sheen  revealed 
iie  fair  and  anxious  countenance  of  Elfride. 

Inside  the  house  this  firelight  was  enough  to  illumine 
the  room  distinctly,  and  to  show  that  the  furniture  of  the 
cottage  was  superior  to  what  might  have  been  expected 
from  so  unpromising  an  exterior.  It  also  showed  to  Elfride 
that  the  room  was  empty.  Beyond  the  light  quiver  and  flap 
of  the  flames  nothing  moved  or  was  audible  therein. 

She  turned  the  handle  and  entered,  throwing  off  the 
cloak  which  enveloped  her,  under  which  she  appeared  with- 
out hat  or  bonnet,  and  in  the  sort  of  half-toilette  country 
people  ordinarily  dine  in.  Then  advancing  to  the  foot  of 
the  staircase,  she  called  distinctly,  but  somewhat  fearfully, 
"  Mrs.  Jethway  !  " 

No  answer. 

With  a  look  of  relief  and  regret  combined,  denoting  that 
ease  came  to  the  heart  and  disappointment  to  the  brain, 
Elfride  paused  for  several  minutes,  as  if  undecided  how  to 
act.  Determining  to  wait,  she  sat  down  on  a  chair.  The 
minutes  drew  on,  and  after  sitting  on  the  thorns  of  impa- 
tience for  half  an  hour,  she  searched  her  pocket,  took  there- 
from a  letter,  and  tore  ofi"  the  blank  leaf.  Then  taking  out 
a  pencil  she  wrote  upon  the  paper  : 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Jethway, — I  have  been  to  visit  you.  I  wanted  much 
to  see  you,  but  I  cannot  wait  any  longer.  I  came  to  beg  you  not  to 
execute  the  threats  you  have  repeated  to  me.  Do  not,  I  beseech  you, 
Mrs.  Jethway,  let  any  one  know  I  ran  away  from  home  !  It  would 
ruin  me  with  him,  and  break  my  heart.  I  will  do  anything  for  you,  if 
you  will  be  kind  to  me.  In  the  name  of  our  common  womanhood,  do 
not,  I  implore  you,  make  a  scandal  of  me. — Yours, 

"E.    SWANCOURT." 

She  folded  the  note  cornerwise,  directed  it,  and  placed 
it  on  the  table.  Then  again  drawing  the  hood  over  her 
curly  head  she  emerged  silently  as  she  had  come. 

While  this  episode  had  been  in  action  at  Mrs.  Jethway's 


3IO 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


cottage.  Knight  had  gone  from  the  dining-room  into  the 
drawing-room,  and  found  Mrs.  Swancourt  there  alone. 

"  Elfride  has  vanished  up  stairs  or  somewhere,'*'  she  saidr 
*'  And  I  have  been  reading  an  article  in  an  old  number  of 
the  Present  I  lighted  on  by  chance  a  short  time  ago;  it  is 
an  article  you  once  told  us  was  yours.  Well,  Harry,  with 
due  deference  to  your  literary  powers,  allow  me  to  say  that 
this  effusion  is  all  nonsense,  in  my  opinion." 

"  What  is  it  about  ?  "  said  Knight,  taking  up  the  paper 
and  reading. 

"  There  :  don't  get  red  about  it.  Own  that  experience 
has  taught  you  to  be  more  charitable.  I  have  never  read 
such  unchivalrous  sentiments  in  my  life — from  a  man,  I 
mean.  There,  I  forgive  you  \  it  was  before  you  knew  El- 
fride." 

"  O,  yes,"  said  Knight,  looking  up,  "  I  remember  now. 
The  text  of  that  sermon  was  not  my  own  at  all,  but  was 
suggested  to  me  by  a  young  man  named  Smith — the  same 
one  I  have  mentioned  to  you  as  coming  from  this  parish. 
I  thought  the  idea  rather  ingenious  at  the  time,  and  enlarged 
it  to  the  weight  of  a  few  guineas,  because  I  had  nothing  else 
m  my  head." 

"  Which  idea  do  you  call  the  text  ?  I  am  curious  to 
know  that." 

"  Well,  this,"  said  Knight,  somewhat  unwillingly.  "  That 
experience  teaches  that  your  sweetheart,  no  less  than  your 
tailor,  is  necessarily  very  imperfect  in  her  duties,  if  you  are 
her  first  patron :  and  conversely,  the  sweetheart  who  is 
graceful  under  the  initial  kiss  must  be  supposed  to  have  had 
some  practice  in  the  trade." 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  wrote  that  upon  the 
strength  of  another  man's  remark,  without  having  tested  it 
by  practice  ? " 

"  Yes— indeed  I  do." 

"  Then  I  think  it  was  uncalled  for  and  unfair.  And 
how  do  you  know  it  is  true  ?     I  expect  you  regret  it  now." 

"  Since  you  bring  me  into  a  serious  mood,  I  will  speak 
candidly.  I  do  believe  that  remark  to  be  perfectly  true, 
and,  having  written  it,  I  would  defend  it  anywhere.  But  I 
do  often  regret  having  ever  written  it,  as  well  as  others  of 
^he  sort.     I  have  grown  older  since,  and  I  find  such  a  tone 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


3" 


of  writing  is  calculated  to  do  harm  in  the  world.  Every 
literary  Jack  becomes  a  gentleman  if  he  can  only  pen  a  few 
indifferent  satires  upon  womankind  :  women  themselves,  too, 
have  taken  to  the  trick  ;  and  so,  upon  the  whole,  I  begin  to 
be  rather  ashamed  of  my  companions." 

"  Ah,  Henry,  you  have  fallen  in  love  since,  and  it  makes 
a  difference,"  said  Mrs.  Swancourt  with  a  faint  tone  of 
banter. 

"That's  true  ;  but  that  is  not  my  reason." 

"  Having  found  that,  in  a  case  of  your  own  experience, 
a  so-called  goose  was  a  swan,  it  seems  absurd  to  deny  such 
a  possibility  in  other  men's  experiences." 

"  You  can  hit  palpably,  cousin  Charlotte,"  said  Knight 
"  You  are  like  the  boy  who  puts  a  stone  inside  his  snowball, 
and  I  shall  play  with  you  no  longer.  Excuse  me — I  am  go- 
ing for  my  evening  stroll." 

Though  Knight  had  spoken  jestingly,  this  incident  and 
conversation  had  caused  him  a  sudden  depression.  Com- 
ing, rather  singularly,  just  after  his  discovery  that  Elfride 
had  known  what  it  was  to  love  warmly  before  she  had 
known  him,  his  mind  dwelt  upon  the  subject,  and  the  fa- 
miliar pipe  he  smoked,  while  pacing  up  and  down  the  shrub- 
bery-path, failed  to  be  a  solace.  He  thought  again  of  those 
idle  words — hitherto  quite  forgotten — about  the  first  kiss 
of  a  girl,  and  the  theory  seemed  more  than  reasonable.  Of 
course  their  sting  now  lay  in  their  bearing  on  Elfride. 

Elfride,  under  Knight's  kiss,  had  certainly  been  a  very 
different  woman  from  herself  under  Stephen's.  Whether 
for  good  or  for  ill,  she  had  marvellously  well  learned  a 
sweetheart's  part;  and  the  fascinating  finish  of  her  deport- 
ment in  this  second  campaign  did  probably  arise  from  her 
unreserved  practice  with  Stephen.  Knight,  with  all  the 
rapidity  of  jealous  sensitiveness,  pounced  upon  some  words 
she  had  inadvertently  let  fall,  which  he  had  only  partially 
understood  at  the  time.  It  was  during  that  "  initial  kiss" 
by  the  little  waterfall : 

"  We  m.ust  be  careful.     I  lost  the  other  by  doing  this ! " 

A  flush,  which  had  in  it  as  much  of  wounded  pride  as 
of  sorrow,  passed  over  Knight  as  he  thought  of  what  he 
had  so  frequently  said  to  her  in  his  simplicity.  "  I  always 
meant  to  be  the  first  comer  in  a  woman's  heart :  fresh  lips 


312  A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES. 

or  none  for  me."  How  childishly  blind  he  must  have 
seemed  to  this  mere  girl !  How  she  must  have  laughed  at 
him  inwardly  !  He  absolutely  writhed  as  he  thought  of 
the  confession  she  had  wrung  from  him  on  the  boat  in  the 
darkness  of  night.  The  one  conception  which  had  sus- 
tained his  dignity  when  drawn  out  of  his  shell  on  that 
occasion — that  of  her  charming  ignorance  of  all  such  mat- 
ters— how  absurd  it  was  ! 

This  man,  whose  imagination  had  been  fed  up  to  pre- 
ternatural size  by  lonely  study  and  silent  observations  of 
his  kind — whose  emotions  had  been  drawn  out  long  and 
delicate  by  his  seclusion,  like  plants  in  a  cellar — was  now 
absolutely  in  pain.  Moreover,  several  years  of  poetic 
study,  and,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  poetic  pains,  had 
tended  to  develop  the  affective  side  of  his  constitution 
still  farther  in  proportion  to  his  active  faculties.  It  was 
his  belief  in  the  absolute  newness  of  male  blandishment 
to  Elfride  which  had  constituted  her  primary  charm.  He 
began  to  think  it  was  as  hard  to  be  earliest  in  a  woman's 
heart  as  to  be  first  in  the  Pool  of  Bethesda. 

Heaven  save  Elfride,  notwithstanding  her  inconstancy  ! 
It  was  surely  one  of  the  crudest  contrivances  of  destiny 
that  Knight  should  have  been  thus  constituted  :  that  her 
second  lover  should  not  have  been  one  of  the  great  mass 
of  bustling  males,  less  given  to  introspection,  whose  good- 
nature might  have  compensated  for  any  lack  of  apprecia- 
tiveness.  That  her  throbbing,  self-confounding,  indiscreet 
heart  should  have  to  defend  itself  unaided  against  the  keen 
scrutiny  and  logical  power  which  Knight,  now  that  his 
suspicions  were  awakened,  would  sooner  or  later  be  sure 
to  exercise  against  her,  was  pitiable.  A  miserable  incon- 
gruity is  apparent  in  the  circumstance  of  a  strong  mind 
practicing  its  unerring  archery  upon  a  heart  which  the 
owner  of  that  mind  loved  better  than  his  own. 

Elfride's  docile  devotion  to  Knight  was  now  its  own 
enemy.  Clinging  to  him  so  dependently,  she  taught  him 
in  time  to  presume  upon  that  devotion — a  lesson  men  are 
not  slow  to  learn.  A  slight  rebelliousness  or  Jasionally 
would  have  done  him  no  harm,  and  viould  have  been  a 
world  of  advantage  to  her.  But  she  idolized  him,  and 
was  proud  to  be  his  bond-servant. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

"A  WORM   I'   THE    BUD." 

ONE  day  the  reviewer  said,  "  Let  us  go  to  the  cliffs 
again,  Elfride  ;"  and  without  consulting  her  wishes, 
he  moved  as  if  to  start  at  once. 

"  The  cliff  of  our  dreadful  adventure  ? "  she  inquired, 
with  a  shudder.  "  Death  stares  me  in  the  face,  in  the  per- 
son of  that  cliff."  Nevertheless,  so  entirely  had  she  sunk 
her  individuality  in  his,  that  the  remark  was  not  uttered 
as  an  expostulation,  and  she  immediately  prepared  to  ac- 
company him. 

"  No,  not  that  place,"  said  Knight.  "  It  is  ghastly  to 
me,  too.  That  other,  I  mean ;  what  is  its  name  ? — Windy 
Beak." 

Windy  Beak  was  the  second  cliff  in  height  along  that 
coast,  and,  as  is  frequently  the  case  with  natural  features 
of  the  globe,  and  intellectual  ones  of  men,  enjoyed  the 
reputation  of  being  the  first.  Moreover,  it  was  the  cliff  to 
which  Elfride  had  ridden  with  Stephen  Smith,  on  a  well- 
remembered  morning  of  his  summer  visit.  So,  though 
thought  of  the  former  cliff  had  caused  her  to  shudder  at 
the  perils  to  which  her  lover  and  herself  had  there  been 
exposed,  being  associated  with  Knight  only,  it  was  not  so 
objectionable  as  Windy  Beak.  That  place  was  worse  than 
gloomy,  it  was  a  perpetual  reproach  to  her.. 

But  not  liking  to  refuse,  she  said,  "  It  is  farther  than 
the  other  cliff? " 

*'  Yes ;  but  you  can  ride." 

"  And  will  you  too  ? " 

*'  No,  ril  walk." 

A  duplicate  of  her  original  arrangement  with  Stephen. 
Some  fatality  must  be  hanging  over  her  head. 

Had  Elfride  been  a  little  more  fickle  than  she  really 


214  ^  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

was,  it  would  have  been  better  for  her  by  far.  Morbidly* 
conscientious  sentiments  of  this  water  would  have  been 
powerless  to  trouble  the  mind  of  a  perfect  jilt,  who  would 
have  carried  this  engagement  with  Knight  to  a  triumphant 
issue  in  the  face  of  twice  as  many  complications.  Elfride 
had  still  too  lively  a  sense  of  the  past  to  enjoy  the  idea  of 
imitating  to  the  letter  peculiar  actions  she  had  lately  gone 
through  with  another  lover  and  other  hopes. 

"  Very  well,  Harry,  I'll  ride,"  she  said  meekly. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  she  was  in  the  saddle.  But 
how  different  the  mood  from  that  of  the  former  time  !  She 
had,  indeed,  given  up  her  position  as  queen  of  the  less  to 
be  vassal  of  the  greater.  Here  was  no  showing  off  now  ; 
no  scampering  out  of  sight  with  Pansy,  to  perplex  and  tire 
her  companion  ;  no  saucy  remarks  on  La  Belle  Dame  sans 
Merci.  Elfride  was  burdened  with  the  very  intensity  of 
her  love. 

Knight  did  most  of  the  talking  along  the  journey.     El 
fride  silently  listened,  and  entirely  resigned  herself  to  the 
motions  of  the   ambling  horse  upon  which  she  sat,  alter- 
nately rising  and  sinking  gently,  like  a  sea  bird  upon  a  sea 
wave. 

When  they  had  reached  the  limit  of  a  quadruped's  pos- 
sibilities in  walking,  Knight  tenderly  lifted  her  from  the 
saddle,  tied  the  horse,  and  rambled  on  with  her  to  the 
seat  in  the  rock.  Knight  sat  down,  and  drew  Elfride 
deftly  beside  him,  and  they  looked  over  the  sea. 

Two  or  three  degrees  above  that  melancholy  and  eter- 
nally level  line,  the  ocean  horizon,  hung  a  sun  of  brass, 
with  no  visible  rays,  in  a  sky  of  ashen  hue.  It  was  a  sky 
the  sun  did  not  illuminate  or  enkindle,  as  is  usual  at  sun- 
sets. This  sheet  of  sky  was  met  by  the  salt  mass  of  grey 
water,  flecked  here  and  there  with  white.  A  waft  of  damp- 
ness occasionally  rose  to  their  faces,  which  was  probably 
rarefied  spray  from  the  blows  of  the  sea  upon  the  foot  of 
the  cliff. 

Elfride  wished  it  could  be  a  longer  time  ago  that  she 
had  sat  there  with  Stephen  as  her  lover  and  agreed  to  be 
his  wife.  The  significant  closeness  of  that  time  to  the 
present  was  another  item  to  add  to  the  list  of  passionata 
feaT=".  which  were  chronic  with  her  now. 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES.  3  I  5 

Yet  Knight  was  very  tender  this  evening,  and  sus- 
tained her  close  to  him  as  they  sat. 

Not  a  word  had  been  uttered  by  either  since  sitting 
down,  when  Knight  said  musingly,  looking  still  afar, 

"  I  wonder  if  any  lovers  in  past  years  ever  sat  here  with 
arms  locked,  as  we  do  now  ?  Probably  they  have,  for  the 
place  seems  formed  for  a  seat." 

Her  recollection  of  a  well-known  pair  who  had,  and  the 
much-talked-of  loss  which  had  ensued  therefrom,  and  how 
the  young  man  had  been  sent  back  to  look  for  the  missing 
article,  led  Elfride  to  glance  down  at  her  side,  and  behind 
her  back.  Many  people  who  lose  a  trinket  involuntarily 
give  a  momentary  look  for  it  in  passing  the  spot  ever  so 
long  afterwards.  They  do  not  often  find  it.  Elfride,  in 
turning  her  head,  saw  something  shine  weakly  from  a  cre- 
vice in  the  rocky  sedile.  Only  for  a  few  minutes  during  the 
day  did  the  sun  light  the  alcove  to  its  innermost  rifts  and 
slits,  but  these  were  the  minutes  now,  and  its  level  rays  did 
Elfride  the  good  or  evil  turn  of  revealing  the  lost  ornament. 

Now  Elfride's  thoughts  instantly  reverted  to  the  words 
she  had  unintentionally  uttered  upon  what  had  been  going 
on  when  the  ear-ring  was  lost.  And  she  was  immediately 
seized  with  a  misgiving  that  Knight,  on  seeing  the  object, 
would  be  reminded  of  her  words.  Her  instinctive  act  was 
therefore  to  secure  it  privately. 

It  was  so  deep  in  the  crack  that  Elfride  could  not  pull 
it  out  with  her  hand,  though  she  made  several  surreptitious 
trials. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Elfie  ?  ^'  said  Knight,  noticing  her 
attempts  at  length,  and  looking  behind  him  likewise. 

She  had  relinquished  the  endeavor,  but  it  was  too  late. 

Knight  peered  into  the  joint  from  which  her  hand  had 
been  withdrawn,  and  saw  what  she  had  seen.  He  instantly 
took  a  penknife  from  his  pocket,  and  by  dint  of  probing  and 
dragging,  brought  the  ear-ring  out  upon  open  ground. 

'•  It  is  not  yours,  surely  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  Well,  that  is  a  most  extraordinary  thing,  that  we  should 
find  it  like  this  !  "  Knight  then  remembered  more  circum- 
stances :   "  Wliat,  is  it  the  one  you  have  told  me  of?  " 

"  Yes." 


3i6 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


The  unfortunate  remark  of  hers  at  the  kiss  came  into 
his  mind,  if  eyes  were  ever  an  index  to  be  trusted.  Trying 
to  repress  the  words,  he  yet  spoke  on  the  subject,  more  to 
obtain  assurance  that  what  it  had  seemed  to  imply  was  not 
true  than  from  a  wish  to  pry  into  by-gones. 

"  Were  you  really  engaged  to  be  married  to  that  lover  ?  " 
1)6  said,  looking  straight  forward  at  the  sea  again. 

''Yes — but  not  exactly.     Yet  I  think  I  was." 

"  O,  Elfride,  engaged  to  be  married  ! "  he  murmured. 

*'  It  would  have  been  called  a — secret  engagement,  I 
suppose.  But  don't  look  so  disappointed ;  don't  blame 
me." 

"No,  no." 

"  Why  do  you  say  *  No,  no,'  in  such  a  way  ?  Sweetly 
enough,  but  so  barely  !  " 

Knight  made  no  direct  reply  to  this.  "  Elfride,  I  told 
you  once,"  he  said,  following  out  his  thoughts,  "  that  I 
never  kissed  a  woman  as  a  sweetheart  until  I  kissed  you. 
A  kiss  is  not  much,  I  suppose,  and  it  happens  to  few 
young  people  to  be  able  to  avoid  all  blandishment  and  caress- 
ing, except  from  the  one  they  afterwards  marry.  But  I 
have  peculiar  weaknesses,  Elfride ;  and  because  I  have  led 
a  peculiar  life,  I  must  suffer  for  it,  I  suppose.  I  had 
hoped — well,  what  I  had  no  right  to  hope  in  connection  with 
you.  You  naturally  granted  your  former  lover  the  privi- 
leges you  grant  me  .?  " 

A  "yes"  came  from  her  like  the  last  sad  whisper  of  a 
breeze. 

"  And  he  used  to  kiss  you — of  course  he  did." 

"  Yes  "  (very  weakly). 

"  And  perhaps  you  allowed  him  a  more  free  manner  in 
his  love-making  than  I  have  shown  in  mine  ? " 

"  No,  I  did  not."     This  was  rather  more  alertly  spoken. 

"But  he  adopted  it  without  being  allowed  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  How  much  I  have  made  of  you,  Elfride,  and  how  I 
have  kept  aloof!"  said  Knight  in  deep  and  shaken  tones. 
"  So  many  days  and  hours  as  I  have  hoped  in  you — I  have 
feared  to  kiss  you  more  than  those  two  times.  And  he 
made  no  scruples  to  .  .  ." 

She  crept  closer  to  him  and   trembled  as  if  with  cold, 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES.  3 1 7 

Aler  dread  that  the  whole  story,  with  random  additions, 
w^ould  become  known  to  him,  caused  her  manner  to  be  so 
agitated,  that  Knight  was  alarmed  and  perplexed  into  still- 
ness. The  actual  innocence  which  made  her  think  so  fear- 
fully of  what,  as  the  world  goes,  was  not  a  great  matter, 
magnified  her  apparent  guilt.  It  may  have  said  to  Knight 
that  a  woman  who  was  so  flurried  in  the  preliminaries  must 
have  a  dreadful  sequel  to  her  tale. 

"  I  know,"  continued  Knight,  with  an  indescribable  drag 
of  manner  and  intonation,— " I  know  lam  absurdly  scrupu- 
lous about  you — that  I  want  you  too  exclusively  mine.  In 
your  past  before  you  knew  me — from  your  very  cradle — I 
wanted  to  think  you  mine.  I  would  make  you  mine  by 
main  force.  Elfride,"  he  went  on  vehemently,  "  I  can't  help 
this  jealousy  over  you!  It  is  my  nature,  and  must  be  so, 
and  I  hate  the  fact  that  you  have  been  caressed  before  :  yes, 
hate  it!" 

She  drew  a  long  deep  breath,  which  was  half  a  sob. 
Knight's  face  was  hard,  and  he  never  looked  at  her  at  all, 
still  fixing  his  gaze  far  out  to  sea,  which  the  sun  had 
now  resigned  to  the  shade.  In  high  places  it  is  not  long 
from  sunset  to  night,  dusk  being  in  a  measure  banished, 
and  though  only  evening  where  they  sat,  it  had  been  twilight 
in  the  valleys  for  half  an  hour.  Upon  the  dull  expanse  of 
sea  there  gradually  intensified  itself  into  existence  the  gleam 
of  a  distant  light-ship. 

"  When  that  lover  first  kissed  you,  Elfride,  was  it  in  such 
a  place  as  this  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  was." 

"  Elfride,  you  don't  tell  me  anything  but  what  I  wring 
out  of  you.  Why  is  that  ?  Why  have  you  suppressed  all 
mention  of  this  when  casual  confidences  of  mine  should 
have  suggested  confidence  in  return  ?  On  board  the  Juliet, 
why  were  you  so  secret?  It  seems  like  being  made  a  fool 
of,  Elfride,  to  think  that,  when  I  was  teaching  you  how 
desirable  it  was  that  we  should  have  no  secrets  from  each 
other,  you  were  assenting  in  words,  but  in  act  contradicting 
me.  Confidence  would  have  been  so  much  more  promising 
for  our  happiness.  If  you  had  had  confidence  in  me,  and 
told  me  willingly,  I  should—be  different.     But  you  suppress 


3i8  ^  P^^^  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

everything,  and  I  shall  question  you.  Did  you  live  at  En- 
delstow  at  that  time  ?  " 

'•Yes,"  she  said,  faintly. 

"  Where  were  you  when  he  first  kissed  you  ? " 

"  Sitting  in  this  seat." 

"  Ah,  I  thought  so  !  "  said  Knight,  rising  and  facing  her. 
"  And  that  accounts  for  everything — the  exclamation  which 
you  explained  deceitfully,  and  all !  Forgive  the  harsh  word, 
Elfride — forgive  it."  He  smiled  a  surface  smile  as  he  con- 
tinued :  "  What  a  poor  mortal  I  am,  to  play  second  fiddle 
in  everything,  and  to  be  deluded  by  fibs  !  " 

"  O,  don't  say  it ;  don't,  Harry  !  " 

"  Where  did  he  kiss  you  besides  here  ? " 

"  Sitting  on — a  tomb — in  the  churchyard — and  other 
places,"  she  answered  with  the  slow  recklessness  of  de- 
spair. 

*'  Never  mind,  never  mind,"  he  exclaimed,  on  seeing 
her  tears  and  perturbation.  "  I  don't  want  to  grieve  you. 
I  don't  care." 

But  Knight  did  care.  How  much  he  cared,  few  who 
have  failed  to  realize  the  man's  nature  will  be  able  to  im- 
agine. 

"  It  makes  no  difference,  you  know,"  he  continued,  see- 
ing she  did  not  reply. 

"  I  feel  cold,"  said  Elfride.     "  Shall  we  go  home  ? " 

"Yes;  it  is  late  in  the  year  to  sit  long  out  of  doors: 
we  ought  to  be  off  this  ledge  before  it  gets  too  dark  to  let 
us  see  our  footing.     I  dare  say  the  horse  is  impatient." 

Knight  spoke  the  merest  commonplace  to  her  now. 
He  had  hoped  to  the  last  moment  that  she  would  have  vol- 
unteered the  whole  story  of  her  first  attachment.  It  grew 
more  and  more  distasteful  to  him  that  she  should  have  a 
secret  of  this  nature.  Such  entire  confidence  as  he  had 
pictured  as  about  to  exist  between  himself  and  the  inno- 
cent young  wife  who  had  known  no  lover's  tones  save  his 
— was  this  its  beginning?  He  lifted  her  upon  the  horse, 
and  they  went  along  constrainedly.  The  poison  of  suspi- 
cion was  doing  its  work  well. 

An  incident  occurred  on  this  homeward  journey  which 
was  long  remembered  by  both,  as  adding  a  shade  to  shad- 
ow.    Knight  could  not  keep  from  his  mind  the  words  of 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  319 

Adam's  reproach  to  Eve  in  Paradise  Lost,  and  at  last  whis- 
pered them  to  hhiiself: 

*•  Fooled  and  beguiled  :  by  him  thou,  I  by  thee." 

"  What  did  you  say  ? "  Elfride  inquired  timorously. 

"  It  was  only  a  quotation." 

They  had  now  dropped  into  a  hollow,  and  the  church- 
tower  made  its  appearance  against  the  pale  evening  sky, 
its  lower  part  being  hidden  by  some  intervening  trees. 
Elfride,  being  denied  an  answer,  was  looking  at  the  tower 
and  trying  to  think  of  some  contrasting  quotation  she 
might  use  to  regain  his  tenderness.  After  a  little  thought 
she  said  in  winning  tones  : 

"  '  Thou  hast  been  my  hope,  and  a  strong  tower  for  me 
against  the  enemy.'  " 

They  passed  on.  A  few  minutes  later  three  or  four 
birds  were  seen  to  fly  out  of  the  tower. 

"  The  strong  tower  moves,"  said  Knight,  with   surprise. 

A  corner  of  the  square  mass  swayed  forward,  sank,  and 
vanished.  A  loud  rumble  followed,  and  a  cloud  of  dust 
arose  where  all  had  previously  been  so  clear. 

"  The  church-restorers  have  done  it !  "  said  Elfride. 

At  this  minute  Mr.  Swancourt  was  seen  approaching 
them.  He  came  up,  with  a  bustling  demeanor,  apparently 
much  engrossed  by  some  business  in  hand. 

"  We  have  got  the  tower  down  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "It 
came  rather  quicker  than  we  intended  it  should.  The  first 
idea  was  to  take  it  down  stone  by  stone,  you  know.  In 
doing  this  the  crack  widened  considerably,  and  it  was  not 
believed  safe  for  the  men  to  stand  upon  the  walls  any 
longer.  Then  we  decided  to  undermine  it,  and  three 
men  set  to  work  at  the  weakest  corner  this  afternoon. 
They  had  left  off  for  the  evening,  intending  to  give  the 
final  blow  to-morrow  morning,  and  had  been  home  about 
half  an  hour,  when  down  it  came.  A  very  successful  job— 
a  very  fine  job  indeed.  But  he  was  a  tough  old  fellow  in 
spite  of  the  crack."  Here  Mr.  Swancourt  wiped  from  his 
face  the  perspiration  his  excitement  had  caused  him. 

"  Poor  old  tower  !  "  said  Elfride. 

"  Yes,  I  am  sorry  for  it,"  said  Knight.  "  It  was  an 
Jiteresting  piece  of  antiquity — a  local  record  of  local  art.'* 


320  ^  r*^//?  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

•*  Ah,  but,  my  dear  sir,  we  shall  have  a  new  one,"  ex- 
postulated Mr.  Swancourt;  "a  splendid  tower — designed 
by  a  first-rate  London  man — in  the  newest  style  of  Gothic 
art,  and  full  of  Christian  feeling." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Knight. 

"  O,  yes.  Not  in  the  barbarous  clumsy  architecture  of 
this  neighborhood  j  you  see  nothing  so  rough  and  pagan 
anywhere  else  in  England.  When  the  men  are  gone,  I 
would  advise  you  to  go  and  see  the  church  before  anything 
farther  is  done  to  it.  You  can  now  sit  in  the  chancel,  and 
look  down  the  nave  through  the  west  arch,  and  through 
that  far  out  to  sea.  In  fact,"  said  Mr.  Swancourt  signifi- 
cantly, "if  a  wedding  were  performed  at  the  altar  to-mor- 
row morning,  it  might  be  witnessed  from  the  deck  of  a  ship 
on  a  voyage  to  the  South  Seas,  with  a  good  glass.  How- 
ever, after  dinner,  when  the  moon  has  risen,  go  up  and  see 
for  yourselves." 

Knight  assented  with  feverish  readiness.  He  had  de- 
cided within  the  last  few  minutes  that  he  could  not  rest 
another  night  without  farther  talk  with  Elfride  upon  the 
subject  which  now  divided  them  :  he  was  determined  to 
know  all,  and  relieve  his  disquiet  in  some  way.  Elfride 
would  gladly  have  escaped  further  converse  alone  with  him 
that  night,  but  it  seemed  inevitable. 

Just  after  moonrise  they  left  the  house.  How  little  any 
expectation  of  the  moolight  prospect — which  was  the  os- 
tensible reason  of  their  pilgrimage — had  to  do  with  Knight's 
real  motive  in  getting  the  gentle  girl  again  upon  his  arm, 
Elfride  no  less  than  himself  well  knew. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

•'  HAD  I  WIST  BEFORE  I  KIST  I  " 

IT  was  now  October,  and  the  night  air  was  chill.  Aftef 
looking  to  see  that  Elfride  was  well  wrapped  up,  Knight 
took  her  along  the  hillside  path  they  had  ascended  so  many 
times  in  each  other's  company,  when  doubt  was  a  thing  un- 
known. On  reaching  the  church  they  found  that  one  side 
of  the  tower  was  as  the  vicar  had  stated,  entirely  removed, 
and  lying  hi  the  shape  of  rubbish  at  their  feet.  The  tower 
on  its  eastern  side  was  still  firm,  and  might  have  withstood 
the  shock  of  storms  and  the  siege  of  battering  years  for 
many  a  generation  even  now.  They  entered  by  the  side 
door,  v;ent  eastward,  and  sat  down  by  the  altar-steps. 

The  heavy  arch  spanning  the  junction  of  tower  and  nave 
formed  to-night  a  black  frame  to  a  distant  misty  view, 
stretching  far  westward.  Just  outside  the  arch  came  the 
heap  of  fallen  stones,  then  a  portion  of  moonlit  churchyard, 
then  the  wide  and  convex  sea  behind.  It  was  a  coup-d'oeil 
which  had  never  been  possible  since  the  mediaeval  masons 
first  attached  the  old  tower  to  the  older  church  it  dignified, 
and  hence  must  be  supposed  to  have  had  an  interest  apart 
from  that  of  simple  moonlight  on  ancient  iwall  and  sea  and 
shore — any  mention  of  which  has  by  this  time,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  become  one  of  the  cuckoo-cries  which  are  heard  but 
not  regarded.  Rays  of  crimson,  blue  and  purple,  shone 
upon  the  twain  from  the  east  window,  wherein  saints  and 
angels  vied  with  each  other  in  gorgeous  surroundings  of 
landscape  and  sky,  and  threw  upon  the  pavement  at  the 
sitters'  feet  a  softer  reproduction  of  the  same  translucent 
hues,  amid  which  the  shadows  of  the  two  living  heads  of 
Knight  and  Elfride  were  opaque  and  prominent  blots.  ^  Pres- 
ently the  moon  became  covered  by  a  cloud,  and  the  irides- 
cence died  away. 


222  A  P/f/A-  OF  BLUE  EYES 

"  There,  it  is  gone  !  "  said  Knight.  "  I've  been  think 
ing,  Elfride,  that  this  place  we  sit  on  is  where  we  may  hope 
to  kneel  together  soon.  But  I  am  restless  and  uneasy,  and 
you  know  why." 

Before  she  replied  the  moonlight  returned  again,  irradia- 
ting that  portion  of  churchyard  within  their  view.  It  bright- 
ened the  near  part  first  and  against  the  background  which 
the  cloud-shadow  had  not  yet  uncovered  stood,  brightest  of 
all,  a  white  tomb — the  tomb  of  Felix  Jethway. 

Knight,  still  ahve  on  the  subject  of  Elfride's  secret, 
thought  of  her  words  concerning  the  kiss — that  it  once  had 
occurred  on  a  tomb  in  this  churchyard. 

"  Elfride,"  he  said,  with  a  superficial  archness  which  did 
not  half  cover  an  undercurrent  of  reproach,  "  do  you  know, 
I  think  you  might  have  told  me  voluntarily  about  that  past 
— of  kisses  and  betrothing — without  giving  me  so  much  un- 
easiness and  trouble.  Was  that  the  tomb  you  alluded  to  as 
having  sat  on  with  him  ? " 

She  breathed  slowly.     "Yes,"  she  said. 

The  correctness  of  his  random  shot  startled  Knight ; 
though,  considering  that  all  the  other  memorials  in  the 
churchyard  were  upright  headstones  upon  which  nobody 
could  possibly  sit,  it  was  not  so  wonderful. 

Elfride  did  not  even  now  go  on  with  the  explanation  her 
exacting  lover  wished  to  have,  and  her  reticence  began  to 
irritate  him  as  before.  He  was  inclined  to  read  her  a  lec- 
ture. 

"  Why  don't  you  tell  me  all  ?  "  he  said,  somewhat  indig- 
nantly. "  Elfride,  there  is  not  a  single  subject  upon  which  I 
feel  more  strongly  than  upon  this — that  everything  ought  to 
be  cleared  up  between  two  persons  before  they  become  hus- 
band and  wife.  See  how  desirable  and  wise  a  course  is, 
in  order  to  avoid  disagreeable  contingencies  in  the  form  of 
discoveries  afterwards.  For,  Elfride,  a  secret  of  no  impor- 
tance at  all  may  be  made  the  basis  of  some  fatal  misunder- 
standing only  because  it  is  discovered,  and  not  confessed. 
They  say  there  never  was  a  couple  of  whom  one  had  not 
some  secret  the  other  never  knew  or  was  intended  to  know. 
This  may  or  may  not  be  true ;  some  have  been  happy  in 
spite  rather  than  in  consequence  of  it.  If  a  man  were  to 
see  another  man  looking  significantly  at  his  wife,  and  she 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  323 

were  blushing  crimson  and  appearing  startled,  do  you  think 
he  would  be  so  well  satisfied  with,  for  instance,  her  truthful 
explanation  that  once,  to  her  great  annoyance,  she  accident- 
ally fainted  into  his  arms,  as  if  she  had  said  it  long  ago,  be- 
fore the  circumstance  occurred  which  forced  it  from  her  ? 
Suppose  that  admirer  you  spoke  of  in  connection  with  the 
tomb  yonder  should  turn  up,  and  bother  me.  It  would 
embitter  our  lives,  if  I  were  then  half  in  the  dark,  as  I  am 
now  !" 

Knight  spoke  the  latter  sentences  with  growing  force. 
"  It  cannot  be,"  she  said. 
"Why  not?"  he  asked  sharply. 

Elfride  was  distressed  to  find  him  in  so  stern  a  mood, 
and  she  trembled.  In  a  confusion  of  ideas,  probably  not 
intending  a  wilful  prevarication,  she  answered  hurriedly : 
*'  If  he's  dead,  how  can  you  meet  him  ?" 
"Is  he  dead?  O,  that's  different  altogether!"  said 
Knight,  immensely  relieved.  "  But,  let  me  see— what  did 
you  say  about  that  tomb  and  him  ?  " 

"That's  his  tomb,"  she  continued  faintly. 
"  What !  was  he  who  lies  buried  there  the  man  who  was 
your  lover  ?  "   Knight  asked  in  a  distinct  voice.  ^ 
"  Yes  ;  and  I  didn't  love  him  or  encourage  him.-" 
"  But  you  let  him  kiss  you — you  said  so,  you  know,  El- 
fride." 

She  made  no  reply. 

"  Why,"  said  Knight,  recollecting  circumstances  by  de- 
grees, "  you  surely  said  you  were  in  some  degree  engaged 
to  him — and  of  course  you  were  if  he  kissed  you.  And 
now  you  say  you  never  encouraged  him.  And  I  have  been 
fancying  you  said — I  am  almost  sure  you  did — that  you 
were  sitting  with  him  on  that  tomb.  Good  God  !  "  he  cried, 
suddenly  starting  up  in  anger,  "  are  you  telling  me  untruths? 
Why  should  you  play  with  me  like  this  ?  I'll  have  the  right 
of  it.  Elfride,  we  shall  never  be  happy  !  There's  a  blight 
upon  us,  or  me,  or  you,  and  it  must  be  cleared  off  before 
we  marry."  Knight  moved  away  impetuously  as  if  to  lea\  e 
her. 

She  jumped  up  and  clutched  his  arm. 

"  Don't  go,  Harry— don't  ?  " 

"Tell  me,  then,"  said  Knight  sternly.     "And  remem- 


324  ^  ^^^^  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

ber  this,  no  more  fibs,  or,  upon  my  soul,  I  shall  hate  yoa 
Heavens  !  that  I  should  come  to  this,  to  be  made  a  fool  of 
by  a  girl's  untruths — " 

"  Don't,  don't  treat  me  so  cruelly !  O,  Harry,  Harry 
have  pity,  and  withdraw  those  dreadful  words !  I  am  truth- 
ful by  nature — I  am — and  I  don't  know  how  I  came  to  make 
you  misunderstand  !  But  I  was  frightened  !  "  She  quiver- 
ed so  in  her  perturbation  that  she  shook  him  with  her. 

"Did  you  say  you  were  sitting  on  that  tomb?"  he 
asked  moodily. 

"  Yes  j  and  it  was  true." 

"  Then  how,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  can  a  man  sit  upon 
his  own  tomb  ?  " 

"That  was  another  man.  Forgive  me,  Harry,  won't 
you?" 

"  What,  a  lover  in  the  tomb  and  a  lover  on  it  ? " 

"  0—0— yes  !  " 

"Then  there  were  two  before  me." 

"  I — suppose  so." 

"  Now,  don't  be  a  silly  woman  with  your  supposing- — I 
hate  all  that,"  said  Knight,  contemptuously  almost.  "  Well, 
we  learn  strange  things.  I  don't  know  what  I  might  have 
done — no  man  can  say  into  what  shape  circumstances  may 
warp  him — but  I  hardly  think  I  should  have  had  the  con- 
science to  accept  the  favors  of  a  new  lover  while  sitting  over 
the  poor  remains  of  the  old  one ;  upon  my  soul,  I  don't." 
Knight,  in  moody  meditation,  continued  looking  towards  the 
tomb,  which  stood  staring  them  in  the  face  like  an  avenging 
ghost. 

"  But  you  wrong  me — O,  so  grievously  !  "  she  cried.  "  1 
did  not  meditate  any  such  thing :  believe  me,  Harry,  I  did 
not.     It  only  happened  so — quite  of  itself." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  didn't  m^e/id  such  a  thing,"  he  said. 
"  Nobody  ever  does,"  he  sadly  continued. 

"  And  him  in  the  grave  I  never  once  loved." 

"  I  suppose  the  second  lover  and  you,  as  you  sat  there, 
vowed  to  be  faithful  to  each  other  forever  ? " 

Elfride  only  replied  by  quick  heavy  breaths,  showing  she 
was  on  the  brink  of  a  sob. 

"  You  don't  choose  to  be  anything  but  reserved,  then  ? " 
he  said,  imperatively. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 


325 


"  Of  course  we  did,"  she  responded. 

"  *  Of  course ! '  You  seem  to  treat  the  subject  very 
lightly." 

"  It  is  past,  and  is  nothing  to  us  now." 

"  Elfride,  it  is  a  nothing  which,  though  it  may  make  a 
careless  man  laugh,  cannot  but  make  a  genuine  one  grieve. 
It  is  a  very  gnawing  pain.  Tell  me  straight  through — all 
of  it." 

**  Never  !  O,  Harry,  how  can  you  expect  it  when  so 
little  of  it  makes  you  so  harsh  with  me  "i " 

"  Now,  Elfride,  listen  to  this.  You  know  that  what  you 
have  told  only  jars  the  subtler  fancies  in  one,  after  all.  The 
feeling  I  have  about  it  would  be  called,  and  is,  mere  senti- 
mentality ;  and  I  don't  want  you  to  suppose  that  an  ordi- 
nary previous  engagement  of  a  straight-forward  kind  would 
make  any  practical  difference  in  my  love,  or  my  wish  to 
make  you  my  wife.  But  you  seem  to  have  more  to  tell,  and 
that's  where  the  wrong  is.     Is  there  more  ?  " 

"Not  much  more,"  she  wearily  answered. 

Knight  preserved  a  grave  silence  for  a  minute.  " '  Not 
much  more,' "  he  said  at  last.  "  I  should  think  not, 
indeed !  "  His  voice  assumed  a  low  and  steady  pitch. 
*'  Elfride,  you  must  not  mind  my  saying  a  strange-sounding 
thing,  for  say  it  1  shall.  It  is  this  :  that  if  there  7uere  much 
more  to  add  to  an  account  which  already  includes  all  the 
particulars  a  broken  marriage  engagement  could  possibly 
include  with  propriety,  it  must  be  some  exceptional  thing 
which  might  make  it  impossible  for  me  or  any  one  else  to 
]ove  you  and  marry  you." 

Knight's  disturbed  mood  led  him  much  farther  than  he 
would  have  gone  in  a  quieter  moment.  And  even  as  it  was, 
had  she  been  assertive  to  any  degree,  he  would  not  have 
been  so  peremptory ;  and  had  she  been  a  stronger  character 
— more  practical  and  less  imaginative — she  would  have 
made  more  use  of  her  position  in  his  heart  to  in- 
fluence him.  But  the  confiding  tenderness  which  had  won 
him  is  ever  accompanied  by  a  sort  of  self-committal  to  the 
stream  of  events,  leading  every  such  woman  to  trust  more 
to  the  kindness  of  fate  for  good  results  than  to  any  argu- 
ment of  her  own. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  murmured  cynically  ;  "  I  won't  say  it 


226  ^  P^^^  ^P  BLUE  EYES. 

is  your  fault :  it  is  my  ill-luck,  I  suppose.  I  had  no  real 
right  to  question  you — everybody  would  say  it  was  pre- 
suming. But  when  we  have  misunderstood,  we  feel  injur- 
ed by  the  subject  of  our  misunderstanding.  You  never  said 
you  had  had  nobody  else,  so  why  should  I  blame  you  ?  El- 
fride,  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  No,  no !  I  would  rather  have  your  anger  than  that 
cool  aggrieved  politeness.  Do  drop  that,  Harry!  Why 
should  you  inflict  that  upon  me  ?  it  reduces  me  to  the  level 
of  a  mere  acquaintance." 

"  You  do  that  with  me.  Why  not  confidence  for  con- 
fidence ? " 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  did  not  ask  you  a  single  question  with  re- 
gard to  your  past :  I  didn't  wish  to  know  about  it.  All  I 
cared  for  was  that,  wherever  you  came  from,  whatever  you 
had  done,  whoever  you  had  loved,  you  were  mine  at  last. 
Harry,  if  originally  you  had  known  I  had  loved,  would  you 
never  have  cared  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  won't  quite  say  that.  Though  I  own  that  the  idea 
of  your  unused  state  had  a  great  charm  for  me.  But  I  think 
this  :  that  if  I  had  known  there  was  any  phase  of  your  past 
love  5^ou  would  refuse  to  reveal  if  I  asked  to  know  it,  J 
should  never  have  loved  you." 

Elfride  sobbed  bitterly.  "  Am  I  such  a — mere  character  • 
less  toy — as  to  have  no  attrac — tion  in  me,  apart  from— 
freshness  ?  Haven't  I  brains  ?  You  said — I  was  clever  and 
ingenious  in  my  thoughts,  and — isn't  that  anything  >  Have  I 
not  some  beauty  ?  I  think  I  have  a  little — and  I  knov/ 1  have 
■ — yes,  I  do  !  You  have  praised  my  voice,  and  my  manner, 
and  my  accomplishments.  Yet  all  these  together  are  so  much 
rubbish  because  I — accidentally  saw  a  man  before  you!" 

"  O,  come,  Elfride.     '  Accidentally  saw  a  man'  is  very 
cool.     You  loved  him,  remember." 

"—And  loved  him  a  little." 

"  And  refuse  now  to  answer  the  simple  question  how  it 
ended.     Do  you  refuse  still,  Elfride  ?  " 

"  You  have  no  right  to  question   me  so — you   said  so. 
It  is  unfair.     Trust  me  as  I  trust  you." 

"  That's  not  at  all." 

"  I  shall  not  love  you  if  you  are  so  cruel.     It  is  cruel 
to  me  to  argue  like  this." 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  327 

"  Perhaps  it  is.  Yes,  it  is.  I  was  carried  away  by  my 
feeCing  for  you.  Heaven  knows  that  I  didn't  mean  to  ;  but 
I  have  loved  you  so  that  I  have  used  you  badly !  " 

"  I  don't  mind  it,  Harry ! "  she  instantly  answered, 
creeping  up  and  nestling  against  him  ;  "  and  I  will  not 
think  at  all  that  you  used  me  harshly  if  you  will  for- 
give me,  and  not  be  vexed  with  me  any  more.  J  do  wish 
I  had  been  exactly  as  you  thought  I .  was,  but  I  could  not 
help  it,  you  know.  If  I  had  only  known  you  had  been 
coming,  what  a  nunnery  I  would  have  lived  in  to  have 
been  good  enough  for  you  !  " 

"  Well,  never  mind,"  said  Knight ;  and  he  turned  to  go. 
He  endeavored  to  speak  sportively  as  they  went  on.  "  Di- 
ogenes Laertius  says  that  philosophers  used  voluntarily  to 
deprive  themselves  of  sight  to  be  uninterrupted  in  their 
meditations.  Men,  becoming  lovers,  ought  to  do  the  same 
thing." 

"Why.?— but  never  mind — I  don't  want  to  know. 
Don't  speak  laconically  to  me,"  she  said,  with  deprecation. 

"Why?  Because  they  would  never  then  be  distracted 
by  discovering  their  idol  was  second-hand." 

She  looked  down  and  sighed ;  and  they  passed  out  of 
the  crumbling  old  place,  and  slowly  crossed  to  the  church- 
yard entrance.  Knight  was  not  himself,  and  he  could  not 
pretend  to  be.     She  had  not  told. 

He  supported  her  lightly  over  the  stile,  and  was  practi- 
cally as  attentive  as  a  lover  could  be.  But  there  had 
passed  away  a  glory,  and  the  dream  was  not  as  it  had  been 
of  yore.  Perhaps  Knight  was  not  shaped  by  Nature  for 
a  marrying  man.  Perhaps  his  life-long  constraint  towards 
women,  which  he  had  attributed  to  accident,  was  not 
chance  after  all,  but  the  natural  result  of  instinctive  acts 
so  minute  as  to  be  undiscernible  even  by  himself.  Or 
whether  the  mere  smashing  of  any  bright  illusion,  however 
unjustified  its  existence,  depreciates  ipso  facto  the  unexag- 
gerated  and  proper  brightness  which  justly  belongs  to  its 
basis,  one  cannot  say.  Certain  it  was  that  Knight's  dis- 
appointment at  finding  himself  second,  at  Elfride's  momen- 
tary equivoque,  and  at  her  reluctance  to  be  candid, 
brought  him  to  Lhe  verge  of  cynicism. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

**  O  DAUGHTER  OF  BABYLON,  WASTED  WITH 

misery!" 

A  HABIT  of  Knight's  when  not  immediately  occupied 
with  Elfride — to  walk  by  himself  for  half  an  hour  or 
so  between  dinner  and  bedtime — had  become  familiar  to 
his  friends  at  Endelstow,  Elfride  herself  among  them. 
When  he  had  helped  her  over  the  stile,  she  said  gently, 
"  If  you  wish  to  take  your  usual  turn  on  the  hill,  Harry,  I 
can  run  down  to  the  house  alone." 

''  Thank  you,  Elfie  ;  then  I  think  I  will." 
Her  form  diminished  to  blackness  in  the  moonlight, 
and  Knight,  after  remaining  upon  the  churchyard  stile  a 
few  minutes  longer,  turned  back  again  towards  the  build- 
ing. His  usual  course  was  now  to  light  a  cigar  or  pipe, 
and  indulge  in  a  quiet  meditation.  But  to-night  his  mind 
was  too  tense  to  bethink  itself  of  such  a  solace.  He 
merely  walked  round  to  the  site  of  the  fallen  tower,  and  sat 
himself  down  upon  some  of  the  large  stones  which  had 
composed  it,  until  this  day  that  the  concatenation  of  cir- 
cumstance originated  by  Stephen  Smith,  when  in  the  em- 
ploy of  Mr.  Hewby,  the  London  man  of  art,  had  brought 
about  its  overthrow. 

Pondering  on  the  possible  episodes  of  Elfride's  past 
life,  and  on  how  he  had  supposed  her  to  have  had  no  past 
justifying  the  name,  he  sat  and  regarded  the  white  tomb 
of  young  Jethway,  now  close  in  front  of  him.  The  sea, 
though  comparatively  placid,  could  as  usual  be  heard  from 
this  point  along  the  whole  distance  between  promontories 
to  the  right  and  left,  floundering  and  entangling  itself 
among  the  insulated  stacks  of  rock  which  dotted  the  water's 
edge — the  miserable  skeletons  of  tortured  old  cliffs  that 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EVES.  329 

would  not  even  yet  succumb  to  the  wear  and  tear  of  the 
tides. 

As  a  change  from  thoughts  not  of  a  very  cheerful  kind, 
Knight  attempted  exertion.  He  stood  up,  and  prepared 
to  ascend  to  the  summit  of  the  ruinous  heap  of  stones, 
from  which  a  more  extended  outlook  was  obtainable  than 
from  the  ground.  He  stretched  out  his  arm  to  seize  the 
projecting  arris  of  a  larger  block  than  ordinary,  and  so 
help  himself  up,  when  his  hand  lighted  plump  upon  a  sub- 
stance differing  in  the  greatest  possible  degree  from  what 
he  had  expected  to  seize — hard  stone.  It  was  filamentous 
and  entangled,  and  trailed  upon  the  stone.  The  deep 
shadow  from  the  aisle  wall  prevented  his  seeing  anything 
here  distinctly,  and  he  began  guessing  as  a  necessity.  "  It 
is  a  tressy  species  of  moss  or  lichen,"  he  said  to  himself. 

But  it  lay  loosely  over  the  stone. 

"  It  is  a  tuft  of  grass,"  he  said. 

But  it  lacked  the  roughness  and  humidity  of  the  finest 
grass. 

"  It  is  a  mason's  whitewash-brush." 

Such  brushes,  he  remembered,  were  more  bristly ;  and 
however  much  used  in  repairing  a  structure,  would  not  be 
required  in  pulling  one  down. 

He  said,  "  It  must  be  a  thready  silk  fringe." 

He  felt  farther  in.  It  was  somewhat  warm.  Knight 
instantly  felt  somewhat  cold. 

To  find  the  coldness  of  inanimate  matter  where  you  ex- 
pect warmth  is  startling  enough  ;  but  a  colder  temperature 
than  that  of  the  body  being  rather  the  rule  than  the  excep- 
tion in  common  substances,  it  hardly  conveys  such  a  shock 
to  the  system  as  finding  warmth  where  utter  frigidity  is  an- 
ticipated. 

"  God  only  knows  what  it  is  ! "  he  said. 

He  felt  farther  and  thought  more.  And  he  put  his 
hand  upon  a  human  head.  The  head  was  warm,  but  mo- 
tionless. The  thready  mass  was  the  hair  of  the  head-^ 
long  and  straggling.     It  was  the  head  of  a  woman. 

Knight  recoiled. 

He  stood  still  for  a  moment,  and  collected  his  thoughts. 
The  vicar's  account  of  the  fall  of  the  tower  had  been  that 
the  workmen  had  been  undermining  it  all   the  day,  and 


330 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


had  left  in  the  evening,  intending  to  give  the  finishing 
stroke  the  next  morning.  Half  an  hour  after  they  had 
gone  the  undermined  angle  came  down.  The  woman  who 
was  half  buried,  as  it  seemed,  must  have  been  beneath  it  at 
the  moment  of  the  fall. 

Knight  leaped  up  and  began  endeavoring  to  remove  the 
rubbish  with  his  hands.  The  heap  overlying  the  body  was 
for  the  most  part  fine  and  dusty,  but  in  immense  quantity. 
It  would  be  a  saving  of  time  to  run  for  assistance.  He  cross- 
ed to  the  churchyard  wall,  and  hastened  down  the  hill. 

A  little  way  down  an  intersecting  road  passed  over  a 
small  ridge,  which  now  showed  up  darkly  against  the 
moon,  and  this  road  here  formed  a  kind  of  notch  in  the 
sky-line.  At  the  moment  that  Knight  arrived  at  the  cross- 
ing he  beheld  a  man  on  this  eminence  coming  towards 
him.     Knight  turned  aside  and  met  the  stranger. 

"  There  has  been  an  accident  at  the  church,"  said 
Knight,  without  preface.  "The  tower  has  fallen  on  some- 
body, who  has  been  lying  there  ever  since.  Will  you  come 
and  help  ? " 

"  That  I  will,"  said  the  man. 

"  It  is  a  woman,"  said  Knight,  as  they  hurried  back, 
"  and  I  think  we  two  are  enough  to  extricate  her.  Do  you 
knov/  of  a  shovel  ?  " 

"  The  grave-digging  shovels  are  about  somewhere.  They 
used  to  stay  in  the  tower." 

"  And  there  must  be  some  belonging  to  the  workmen." 

They  searched  about,  and  in  an  angle  of  the  porch  found 
three,  carefully  stowed  away.  Going  round  to  the  west  end, 
Knight  signified  the  spot  of  the  tragedy. 

"  We  ought  to  have  brought  a  lantern,"  he  exclaimed. 
''But  we  maybe  able  to  do  without."  And  he  set  to  work 
removing  the  superincumbent  mass. 

The  other  man,  who  had  looked  on  somewhat  helpless- 
ly at  first,  now  followed  the  example  of  Knight's  activity, 
and  removed  the  larger  stones  which  were  mingled  with  the 
rubbish.  But  with  all  their  eftbrts  it  was  quite  ten  minutes 
before  the  body  of  the  unfortunate  creature  could  be  extri- 
cated. They  lifted  her  as  carefully  as  they  could,  breath- 
lessly carried  her  to  Felix  Jeth way's  tomb,  which  was  only 
a  few  steps  westward,  and  laid  her  thereon. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 


331 


"Is  she  dead  indeed?"  said  the  stranger. 

"  She  appears  to  be,"  said  Knight.  "  Which  is  tlie 
nearest  house  ?     The  vicarage,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes  :  but  since  we  shall  have  to  call  a  surgeon  from 
Stranton,  I  think  it  would  be  better  to  carry  her  in  that  di- 
rection, instead  of  away  from  the  town." 

"  But  is  it  not  much  farther  to  the  first  house  we  come  to 
going  that  way,  than  to  the  vicarage  or  to  the  Crags  ? " 

"  Not  much,"  the  stranger  replied. 

"  Suppose  we  take  her  there,  then.  And  I  think  the 
best  way  to  do  it  would  be  thus,  if  you  don't  mi::d  joining 
hands  with  me." 

"  Not  in  the  least ;  I  am  glad  to  assist." 

"  Making  a  kind  of  cradle,  by  clasping  their  hands 
crosswise  under  the  inanimate  woman,  they  lifted  her,  and 
walked  on  side  by  side  down  a  path  indicated  by  the  stran- 
ger, who  appeared  to  know  the  locality  well. 

"  I  had  been  sitting  in  the  church  for  nearly  an  hour," 
Knight  resumed,  when  they  were  out  of  the  churchyard. 
"  Afterwards  I  walked  round  to  the  site  of  the  fallen  tower, 
and  so  found  her.  It  is  painful  to  think  that  I  unconscious- 
ly wasted  so  much  time  in  the  very  presence  of  a  perishing, 
flying  soul." 

"  The  tower  fell  at  dusk,  did  it  not  ?  quite  two  hours 
ago,  I  think  ? " 

"  Yes.  She  must  have  been  there  alone.  What  could 
have  been  her  object  in  visitin-T;  the  churchyard  then  ? " 

"  It  is  difficult  to  say."  The  stranger  looked  inquiring- 
ly into  the  reclining  face  of  the  motionless  form  they  bore. 
"  Would  you  turn  her  round  for  a  moment,  so  that  the 
light  shines  on  her  face  ?  "  he  said. 

They  turned  her  face  to  the  moon,  and  the  man  looked 
closer  into  her  features.     "  Why,  I  know  her  1 " 

"  Who  is  she  ? " 

"  Mrs.  Jethway.  And  the  cottage  we  are  taking  her  to 
is  her  own.  She  is  a  widow ;  and  I  was  speaking  to  her 
only  this  afternoon.  I  was  at  Stranton  post-office,  and  she 
came  there  to  post  a  letter.  Poor  soul  !  Let  us  hurry 
on." 

"  Hold  my  wrist  a  little  tighter.  Was  not  that  tomb 
we  laid  her  on  the  tomb  of  her  only  son? " 


-^2  ^  PA^^  OP  BLUE  EYES, 

"  Yes,  it  was.  Yes,  I  see  it  now.  She  was  there  to  viS' 
it  the  tomb.  Since  the  death  of  that  son  she  has  been  a 
desolate  crazed  woman,  always  bewailing  him.  She  was  a 
farmer's  wife,  very  well  educated— a  governess  originally,  I 
believe." 

Knight's  heart  was  moved  to  sympathy.  His  own  fortunes 
seemed  in  some  strange  way  to  be  interwoven  with  those  of 
this  Jethway  family,  through  the  influence  of  Elfride  over 
himself  and  the  unfortunate  son  of  that  house.  He  made 
no  reply,  and  they  still  walked  on. 

"  She  begins  to  feel  heavy,"  said  the  stranger,  breaking 
the  silence. 

*'  Yes,  she  does,"  said  Knight ;  and  after  another  pause 
added,  "  I  think  I  have  met  you  before,  though  where  I  can- 
not recollect.     May  I  ask  who  you  are .? " 

"  O  yes.    I  am  Lord  Luxellian.    Who  are  you  ? " 
"  I  am  a  man  visiting  at  the  Crags— Mr.  Knight." 
<'  I  have  heard  of  you,  Mr.  Knight." 
"  And  I  of  you.  Lord  Luxellian.     I   am  glad  to  meet 
you." 

*'  I  may  say  the  same.  I  am  familiar  with  your  name 
in  print." 

"  And  I  with  yours.     Is  this  the  house  ? " 
"  Yes." 

The  door  was  locked.  Knight,  reflecting  a  moment, 
searched  the  pocket  of  the  lifeless  woiuan,  and  found  there- 
in a  large  key,  which,  on  being  applied  to  the  door,  open- 
ed it  easily.  The  fire  was  out,  but  the  moonlight  enteied 
the  quarried  window,  and  made  patterns  upon  the  floor. 
The  rays  enabled  them  to  see  that  the  room  into  which  they 
had  entered  was  pretty  well  furnished,  it  being  the  same 
room  Elfride  had  visited  alone  two  or  three  evenings  earlier. 
They  deposited  their  still  burden  on  an  old-fashioned  couch 
which  stood  against  the  wall,  and  Knight  searched  about 
for  a  lamp  or  candle.  He  found  a  candle  on  a  shelf,  light- 
ed it,  and  placed  it  on  the  table. 

Both  Knight  and  Lord  Luxellian  exan>ined  the  pale 
countenance  attentivel}-,  and  both  were  nearly  convinced 
that  there  was  no  hope.  No  marks  of  violence  were  visible 
in  the  casual  examination  they  made. 

*'  1  think  that  as  I  know  where  Doctor  Granson  lives," 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  333 

said  Lord  Luxellian,  "  I  had  belter  run  for  him  while  you 
stay  here." 

Knight  agreed  to  this.  Lord  Luxellian  then  went  off, 
and  his  hurrying  footsteps  died  away.  Knight  continued 
bending  over  the  body,  and  a  few  minutes  longer  of  careful 
scrutiny  perfectly  satisfied  him  that  the  woman  was  far  be- 
yond the  reach  of  the  lancet  and  the  drug.  Her  extremi- 
ties were  already  beginning  to  get  stiff  and  cold.  Knight 
covered  her  face,  and  sat  down. 

The  minutes  went  by.  The  essayist  remained  musing 
on  all  the  occurrences  of  the  night.  His  eyes  were  directed 
upon  the  table,  and  he  had  seen  for  some  time  that  writing- 
materials  were  spread  upon  it.  He  now  noticed  these  more 
particularly:  there  were  an  ink-stand,  pen,  blotting-book, 
and  note-paper.  Several  sheets  of  paper  were  thrust  aside 
from  the  rest,  upon  which  letters  had  been  begun  and  re- 
linquished, as  if  their  form  had  not  been  satisfactory  to  the 
writer.  A  stick  of  black  sealing-wax  and  seal  were  there 
too,  as  if  the  ordinary  fastening  had  not  been  considered 
sufficiently  secure.  The  abandoned  sheets  of  paper  lying, 
as  they  did,  open  upon  the  table,  it  was  possible,  as  he  sat, 
to  read  the  following  words  written  on  each.  One  ran 
thus  : 

"  Sir, — As  a  woman  who  was  once  blest  with  a  dear  son  of  hef 
own,  I  implore  you  to  accept  a  warning — " 

Another : 

"Sir, — If  you  will  design  to  receive  warning  from  a  stranger be« 
fore  it  is  too  late  to  alter  your  course,  listen  to — " 

The  third : 

"  Sir, — With  this  letter  I  inclose  to  you  another  which,  unaided  by 
any  explanation  from  me,  tells  a  startling  tale.  I  wish,  however,  to 
add  a  few  words  to  make  your  delusion  yet  more  clear  to  you — " 

It  was  plain  that,  after  these  renounced  beginnings,  a 
fourth  letter  had  been  despatched,  which  had  been  deemed 
a  proper  one.  Upon  the  table  were  two  drops  of  sealing- 
wax,  the  stick  from  which  they  were  taken  having  been  laid 
down  overhanging  the  edge  of  the  table,  the  end  drooping 


334  ^  ^^^^  ^P  BLUE  EYES, 

showing  that  the  wax  was  placed  there  while  warm.  There 
was  the  chair  in  which  the  writer  had  sat,  the  impression 
of  the  letter's  address  upon  the  blotting-paper,  and  the  poor 
widow  who  had  caused  these  results  lying  dead  hard  by. 
Knight  had  seen  enough  to  lead  him  to  the  conclusion  that 
Mrs.  Jethway,  having  matter  of  great  importance  to  com- 
municate to  some  friend  or  acquaintance,  had  written  him 
a  very  careful  letter,  and  gone  herself  to  post  it ;  that  she 
had  not  returned  to  the  house  from  that  time  of  leaving  it, 
till  Lord  Luxellian  and  himself  had  brought  her  back 
dead. 

The  unutterable  melancholy  of  the  whole  scene,  as  he 
waited  on,  silent  and  alone,  did  not  altogether  clash  with 
the  mood  of  Knight,  even  though  he  was  the  affianced  of  a 
fair  and  winning  girl,  and  though  so  lately  he  had  been  in 
her  company.  While  sitting  on  the  remains  of  the  demol- 
ished tower,  he  had  defined  a  new  sensation;  that  the 
lengthened  course  of  inaction  he  had  lately  been  indulging 
in  on  Elfride's  account  might  probably  not  be  good  for  him 
as  a  man  who  had  work  to  do.  It  could  quickly  be  put  an 
end  to  by  hastening  on  his  marriage  with  her. 

Knight,  in  his  own  opinion,  was  one  who  had  missed  his 
mark  by  excessive  aiming.  Having  now,  to  a  great  extent, 
given  up  ideal  ambitions,  he  wished  earnestly  to  direct  his 
powers  into  a  more  practical  channel,  and  thus  correct  the 
introspective  tendencies  which  had  never  brought  himself 
much  happiness,  or  dene  his  fellow-creatures  any  great  good. 
To  make  a  start  in  this  new  direction  by  marriage,  which, 
since  knowing  Elfride,  had  been  so  entrancing  an  idea,  was 
less  exquisite  to-night.  That  the  curtailment  of  his  illusion 
regarding  her  had  something  to  do  with  the  reaction,  and 
with  the  return  of  his  old  sentiments  on  wasting  time,  is 
more  than  probable.  Though  Knight's  heart  had  so  greatly 
mastered  him,  the  mastery  was  not  so  complete  as  to  be 
easily  maintained  in  the  face  of  a  moderate  intellectual 
revival. 

His  reverie  was  brcken  by  the  sound  of  wheels,  and  a 
horse's  tramp.  The  door  opened  to  admit  the  surgeon, 
Lord  Luxellian,  and  a  Mr.  Coole,  coroner  for  the  division 
(who  had  been  attending  at  Stranton  that  very  day,  and  was 
having  an  after-dinner  chat  with  the  doctor  when  Lord  Lux- 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


335 


elHan  aiiived):  next  came  two  female  nurses  and  some 
idlers. 

Mr.  Granson,  after  a  cursor}'  examination,  pronounced 
the  woman  dead  from  suffocation,  induced  by  intense  pres- 
sure on  the  respiratory  organs ;  and  arrangements  were 
made  that  the  inquiry  should  take  pi  ace  on  the  following 
m;;rning,  before  the  retun.  of  the  coroner  to  St.  Kirrs. 

Shortly  afterwaids  the  house  of  the  widow  was  deserted 
by  all  its  living  occupants,  r.nd  she  abode  in  death,  as  she 
bad  in  her  life  during:  the  past  two  years,  entirely  alone. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


VEA,  HAPPY  SHALL  HE  BE  THAT  REWARDETH  THEE 


AS  THOU  HAST  SERVED  US. 


SIXTEEN  hours  had  passed.  Knight  was  entering  the 
ladies'  room  at  the  Crags,  upon  his  return  from  attend- 
ing the  inquest  touching  the  death  of  Mrs.  Jethway.  El- 
fride  was  not  in  the  apartment. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  made  a  few  inquiries  concerning  the 
verdict  and  collateral  circumstances.     Then  she  said, 

"The  postman  came  this  morning  the  minute  after  you 
left  the  house.  There  was  only  one  letter  for  you,  and  I 
have  it  here." 

She  took  a  letter  from  the  lid  of  her  work-box,  and 
handed  it  to  him. 

Knight  took  the  missive,  turned  cold,  murmured  a  few 
words,  and  left  the  room. 

The  letter  was  fastened  with  a  black  seal.  The  hand- 
writing in  which  it  was  addressed  had  lain  under  his  eyes, 
long  and  prominently,  only  the  evening  before. 

Knight  was  greatly  agitated,  and  looked  about  for  a 
spot  v;here  he  might  be  secure  from  interruption.  It  was 
the  season  of  heavy  dews,  which  lay  on  the  herbage  in 
shady  places  all  the  day  long  ;  nevertheless,  he  entered  a 
small  patch  of  neglected  grass-plat  enclosed  by  the  shrub- 
bery, and  there  perused  the  letter,  which  he  had  opened 
on  his  way  thither. 

The  handwriting,  the  seal,  the  paper,  the  introductory 
words,  all  had  told  on  the  instant  that  the  letter  had  come 
to  him  from  the  hands  of  the  widow  Jethway,  now  dead  and 
cold.  He  had  instantly  understood  that  the  unfinished 
notes  which  caught  his  eye  yesternight  were  intended  for  no- 
body but  himself.     He  had  remembered  some  of  the  words 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


337 


of  Elfride  in  her  sleep  on  the  steamer,  that  somebody  was 
not  to  tell  him  of  something,  or  it  would  be  her  ruin — -2. 
circumstance  hitherto  deemed  so  trivial  and  meaningless, 
that  he  had  well-nigh  forgotten  it.  All  these  things  infused 
into  him  an  emotion  matchless  in  power,  and  supremely 
distressing  in  quality.  The  paper  in  his  hand  quivered  as 
he  read : 

"  The  Valley,  Endelstow. 

"  Sir, — A  woman  who  has  not  much  in  the  world  to  lose  by  any 
censure  this  act  may  bring  upon  her,  wishes  to  give  you  some  hints 
concerning  a  lady  you  love.  If  you  will  deign  to  accept  a  warning  be- 
fore it  is  too  late,  you  will  notice  what  your  correspondent  has  to  say. 

*'  You  are  deceived.     Can  such  a  woman  as  this  be  worthy  ? 

"  One  who  encouraged  an  honest  youth  to  love  her,  then  slighted 
him,  so  that  he  died. 

"  One  who  next  took  a  man  of  low  birth  as  a  lover,  who  was  forbid- 
den the  house  by  her  father. 

"  One  who  secretly  left  her  home  to  be  married  to  that  man,  met 
him,  and  went  with  him  to  London. 

"  One  who,  for  some  reason  or  other,  returned  again  unmarried. 

"  One  who,  in  her  after  correspondence  with  him,  went  so  far  as  to 
address  him  as  her  husband. 

"  One  who  wrote  the  enclosed  letter  to  me,  who,  better  than  any- 
body else,  knows  the  story,  to  keep  the  scandal  a  secret. 

"  I  hope  soon  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  either  blame  or  praise. 
But  before  removing  me,  God  has  put  it  in  my  power  to  avenge  the 
death  of  my  son. 

"  Gertrude  Jethway." 

The  letter  enclosed  was  the  note  in  pencil  that  Elfride 
had  written  in  Mrs.  Jethway's  cottage : 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Jethway, — I  have  been  to  visit  you.  I  wanted  much 
to  see  you  ;  but  I  cannot  wait  any  longer.  1  came  to  beg  you  not  to 
execute  the  threats  you  have  repeated  to  me.  Do  not,  I  beseech  you, 
Mrs,  Jethway,  let  any  one  know  I  ran  away  from  home  !  It  would 
ruin  me  with  him,  and  break  my  heart.  1  will  do  anything  for  you, 
if  you  will  be  so  kind  to  me.  In  the  name  of  our  common  woman- 
hood, do  not,  I  implore  you,  make  a  scandal  of  me. — Yours, 

"  E.  SWANCOURT." 

Knight  turned  his  head  wearily  towards  the  house. 
The  ground  rose  rapidly  on  nearing  the  shrubbery  in  which 
he  stood,  raising  it  almost  to  a  level  with  the  first  floor  of 
the  Crags.  Elfride's  dressing-room  lay  in  the  salient  angle 
in  this  direction,  and  it  was  lighted  by  two  windows  in  such 

IS 


338  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

a  position  that,  from  Knight's  standing-place,  his  sight 
passed  through  both  windows,  and  raked  the  room.  El- 
fride  was  there  ;  she  was  pausing  between  the  two  win- 
dows, looking  at  her  figure  in  the  cheval-glass.  She  re- 
garded herself  long  and  attentively  in  front  ;  turned,  flung 
back  her  head,  and  observed  the  reflection  over  her  shoul- 
der. 

Nobody  can  predicate  as  to  her  object  or  fancy  ;  she 
may  have  done  the  deed  in  the  very  abstraction  of  deep 
sadness.  She  may  hav^e  been  moaning  from  the  bottom 
of  her  heart,  "  How  unhappy  am  I  !  "  But  the  impression 
produced  on  Knight  was  not  a  good  one.  He  dropped  his 
eyes  moodily.  I'he  dead  woman's  letter  had  a  virtue  in 
the  accident  of  its  juncture  far  beyond  any  it  intrinsically 
exhibited.  Circumstance  lent  to  evil  words  a  ring  of  piti- 
less justice  echoing  from  the  grave.  Knight  could  not 
endure  their  possession.  He  tore  the  letter  into  frag 
ments. 

He  heard  a  brushing  among  the  bushes  behind,  and 
turning  his  head,  he  saw  Elfride  following  him  The  fair 
girl  looked  in  his  face  with  a  wistful  smile  of  hope,  too 
forcedly  hopeful  to  displace  the  firmly  established  dread 
beneath  it.  His  severe  words  of  the  previous  night  still 
sat  heavy  upon  her. 

"  I  saw  you  from  my  window,  Harrj',"  she  said  tim- 
idly. 

"  The  dew  will  make  your  feet  wet,"  he  observed,  as 
one  deaf 

"  I  don't  mind  it." 

**  There  is  danger  in  getting  wet  feet." 
•  "Yes  .  .  .  Harry,  what  is  the  matter  ? " 

"  O,  nothing.  Shall  I  resume  the  serious  conversation 
I  had  with  you  last  night  ?  No,  perhaps  not ;  perhaps  I 
had  better  not." 

"  O,  I  cannot  tell !  How  wretched  all  is  !  Ah,  I  wish 
you  were  your  own  dear  self  again,  and  had  kissed  me 
when  I  came  up!  Why  didn't  you  ask  me  for  one?  why 
don't  you  now  t  " 

"Too  free  in  manner  by  half,"  he  heard  murmur  the 
voice  within  him. 

"  It  was  that  hateful  conversation  last  night,"  she  went 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EVES,  339 

on.     '*  O,  those  words  !     Last  night  was  a  black  night  for 
me." 

"  Kiss  !— I  hate  that  word.  Don't  talk  of  kissing,  for 
God's  sake.  I  should  think  you  might  with  advantage 
have  shown  tact  enough  to  keep  back  that  word  '  kiss,' 
considering  whose  you  have  accepted." 

She  became  very  pale,  and  a  rigid  and  desolate  look 
took  possession  of  her  face.  That  face  was  so  delicate 
and  tender  in  appearance  now,  that  one  could  fancy  the 
pressure  of  a  finger  upon  it  would  cause  a  livid  spot. 

Knight  walked  on,  and  Elfride  with  him,  silent  and  un- 
opposing.  He  opened  a  gate,  and  they  entered  a  path 
across  a  stubble-field. 

*'  Perhaps  I  intrude  upon  you?"  she  said,  as  he  closed 
the  gate.     "  Shall  I  go  away  1  " 

"  No.  Listen  to  me,  Elfride."  Knight's  voice  was  low 
and  unequal.  '*  I  have  been  honest  with  you :  will  you  be 
so  with  me  ?  If  any — strange — connection  has  existed 
between  yourself  and  a  predecessor  of  mine,  tell  it  now. 
It  is  better  that  I  know  it  now,  even  though  the  knowledge 
should  part  us,  than  that  I  should  discover  it  in  time  to 
come.  And  suspicions  have  been  awakened  in  me.  I 
think  I  will  not  say  how,  because  I  despise  the  means.  A 
discovery  of  any  mystery  of  your  past  would  embitter  our 
lives." 

Knight  waited,  with  a  slow  manner  of  calmness.  His 
eyes  were  sad  and  imperative.  They  went  farther  along 
the  path. 

"  Will  you  forgive  me  if  I  tell  all?"  she  exclaimed  en- 
treatingly. 

"  I  can't  promise ;  so  much  depends  upon  what  you 
have  to  tell." 

Elfride  could  not  endure  the  silence  which  followed. 
"  Are  you  not    going  to  love   me  ? "    she    burst  out. 
"  Harry,  Harry,  love  me,  and  speak  as  usual !     Do  ;  I  be- 
seech you,  Harry  ! " 

"  Are  you  going  to  act  fairly  by  me?"  said  Knight,  with 
rising  anger  ;  " or  are  you  not?     What  have  I  done  to  you 
that  I  should  be  put  off  like  this  ?     Be  caught  like  a  bird 
in  a  springe  ;  everything  intended  to  be  hidden  from  me 
Why  is  it,  Elfride  ?     1  hat's  what  I  ask  you." 


340 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


In  their  agitation  they  had  left  the  path,  and  were  wan« 
dering  among  the  wet  and  obstructive  stubble,  without  know« 
ing  or  heeding  it. 

"  What  have  /  done  ?  "  she  faltered,  with  the  utmost 
distress  in  her  eyes. 

"What?  How  can  you  ask  what,  when  you  know  so 
well?  You  kfzow  that  I  have  designedly  been  kept  in  ig- 
norance of  something  attaching  to  you,  which,  had  I  known 
of  it,  might  have  altered  all  my  conduct ;  and  yet  you  say, 
what  ? " 

She  drooped  visibly,  and  made  no  answer. 

"  Not  that  I  believe  in  malicious  letter-writers  and  whis- 
perers ;  not  I.  I  don't  know  whether  I  do  or  don't ;  upon 
my  soul,  I  can't  tell.  I  know  this  :  a  religion  was  build- 
ing itself  upon  you  in  my  heart.  I  looked  into  your  eyes, 
and  thought  I  saw  there  truth  and  innocence  as  pure  and 
perfect  as  ever  embodied  by  God  in  the  flesh  of  a  woman. 
Perfect  truth  is  too  much  to  expect,  but  ordinary  truth  I 
will  have^  or  nothing  at  all.  Just  say,  then  ;  is  the  matter 
you  keep  back  of  the  gravest  importance,  or  is  it  not?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  all  your  meaning.  If  I  have  hid- 
den anything  from  you,  it  has  been  because  I  loved  you 
so,  and  I  feared — feared — to  lose  you." 

"  Since  you  are  not  given  to  confidence,  I  want  to  ask 
some  plain  questions.     Have  I  your  permission  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  and  there  came  over  her  face  a  weary 
resignation.  "  Say  the  harshest  words  you  can  ;  I  will 
bear  them  !  " 

"There  is  a  scandal  in  the  air  concerning  you,  Elfride  ; 
and  I  cannot  even  combat  it  without  knowing  definitely 
what  it  is.  It  may  not  refer  to  you  entirely,  or  even  at  all' 
Knight  trifled  in  the  very  bitterness  of  his  feeling.  "  In 
the  time  of  the  French  Revolution,  Pariseau,  a  ballet-mas- 
ter, was  beheaded  by  mistake  for  Parisot,  a  captain  of  the 
King's  Guard.  I  v/ish  there  was  another  '  E.  Swancourt ' 
in  the  neighborhood.     Look  at  this." 

He  handed  her  the  letter  she  had  written  and  left  on 
the  table  at  Mrs.  Jethway's.     She  looked  over  it  vacantly. 

"  It  is  not  so  much  as  it  seems  !  "  she  pleaded.  "  It 
seems  wickedly  deceptive  to  look  at  now,  but  it  had  a  much 
more  natural  origin  than  you  think.     My  sole  wish  was 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  34I 

not  to  endanger  our  love.     O  Harry,  that  was  all  my  idea. 
It  was  not  much  harm." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  but  independently  of  the  poor  miserable 
creature's  remarks,  it  seems  to  imply — something  wrong." 

"  What  remarks  ?  " 

"  Those  she  wrote  me — now  torn  to  pieces.  Elfride, 
did  yoM  run  away  with  a  man  you  loved  .? — that  was  the 
damnable  statement.  Has  such  an  accusation  life  in  it — 
really,  truly,  Elfride?" 

"Yes,"  she  whispered. 

Knight's  countenance  sank.  "  To  be  married  to  him  ? " 
came  huskily  from  his  lips. 

"Yes.     b,  forgive  me  !     I  had  never  seen  you,  Harry." 

"To  London.?" 

"Yes;  but  I—" 

"  Answer  my  questions  ;  say  nothing  else,  Elfride. 
Did  you  ever  deliberately  try  to  marry  him  in  secret .?  " 

"No  ;  not  deliberately." 

"  But  did  you  do  it .? " 

A  feeble  red  passed  over  her  face. 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

"And  after  that — did  you — write  to  him  as  your  hus- 
band ;  and  did  he  address  you  as  his  wife  ? " 

"  Listen,  listen  !     It  was—" 

"  Do  answer  me  ;  only  answer  me  !  " 

"Then,  yes,  we  did."  Her  lips  shook ;  but  it  was  with 
some  little  dignity  that  she  continued  :  "  I  would  gladly 
have  told  you ;  for  I  knew  and  know  I  had  done  wrong. 
But  I  dared  not ;  I  loved  you  too  well.  O,  so  well  1  You 
have  been  everything  in  the  world  to  me — and  you  are  now. 
Will  you  not  forgive  me  ? " 

It  is  a  melancholy  thought,  that  men  who  at  first  will 
not  allow  the  verdict  of  perfection  they  pronounce  upon 
their  sweethearts  or  wives  to  be  disturbed  by  God's  own 
testimony  to  the  contrary,  will,  once  suspecting  their  purity, 
morally  hang  them  upon  evidence  they  would  be  ashamed 
to  admit  in  judging  a  dog. 

The  reluctance  to  tell,  which  arose  from  Elfride's  sim- 
plicity in  thinking  herself  so  much  more  culpable  than  she 
seally  was,  had  been  doing  fatal  work  in  Knight's  mind. 
The  man  of  many  ideas,  now  that  his  first  dream  of  im 


342  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

possible  things  was  over,  vibrated  too  far  in  the  contrary 
direction  ;  and  her  every  movement  of  feature — every 
tremor — every  confused  word— were  taken  as  so  much 
proof  of  her  unworthiness. 

"  Elfride,  we  must  bid  good-bye  to  compliment,"  said 
Knight;  "we  must  do  without  politeness  now.     Look  in 
my  face,  and  as  you  believe  in  God  above,  tell  me  truly  one 
thing  more.     Were  you  away  alone  with  him  ? " 
"Yes." 

"Did  you  return  home  the  same  day  on  which  you 
left  it?" 

"  No." 

The  word  fell  like  a  fatal  bolt,  and  the  very  land  and 
sky  seemed  to  suffer.  Knight  turned  aside.  Meantime 
Elfride's  countenance  wore  a  look  indicating  utter  despair 
of  being  able  to  explain  matters  so  that  they  would  seem 
no  more  than  they  really  were, — a  despair  which  not  only 
relinquishes  the  hope  of  direct  explanation,  but  wearily 
gives  up  all  collateral  chances  of  extenuation. 

The  scene  was  engraved  for  years  on  the  retina  of 
Knight's  eye  :  the  dead  and  brown  stubble,  the  weeds 
among  it,  the  distant  belt  of  beeches  shutting  out  the  view 
of  the  house,  the  leaves  of  which  were  now  red  and  sick  to 
death. 

"  You  must  forget  me,"  he  said.  "  We  shall  not  marry, 
Elfride." 

How  much  anguish  passed  into  her  soul  at  those  words 
from  him  was  told  by  the  look  of  supreme  torture  she 
wore. 

"  What  meaning  have  you,  Harry }  You  only  say  so, 
do  you  ? " 

She  looked  doubtingly  up  at  him,  and  tried  to  laugh,  as 
if  the  unreality  of  his  words  must  be  unquestionable. 

"  You  are  not  in  earnest,  I  know — I  hope  you  are  not  ? 
Surely  I  belong  to  you,  and  you  are  going  to  keep  me  for 
yours  ? " 

*'  Elfride,  I  have  been  speaking  too  roughly  to  you  ;  1 
have  said  what  I  ought  only  to  have  thought.  I  like  you  \ 
and  let  me  give  you  a  word  of  advice.  Marry  your  man  as 
soon  as  you  can.  However  weary  of  each  other  you  may 
feel,  you  belong  to  each  other,  and  I  am  not  going  to  step 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


343 


between  you.  Do  you  think  I  would — do  you  think  1 
could  for  a  moment  ?  If  you  cannot  marry  him  now,  and 
another  makes  you  his  wife,  do  not  reveal  this  seciet  to 
him  after  marriage,  if  you  do  not  before.  Honesty  would 
be  damnation  then." 

Bewildered  by  his  expressions,  she  exclaimed, 

"  No,  no  ;  I  will  not  be  a  wife  unless  I  am  yours  ;  and 
I  must  be  yours  !  " 

"  If  we  had  married — " 

"  But  you  don't  7nean — that — that — you  will  go  away 
and  leave  me,  and  not  be  anything  more  to  me — O,  you 
don't ! " 

Convulsive  sobs  took  all  nerve  out  of  her  utterance. 
She  checked  them,  and  continued  to  look  in  his  face  for 
the  ray  of  hope  that  was  not  to  be  found  there. 

"  I  am  going  in-doors,"  said  Knight.  "  You  will  not 
follow  me,  Elfride  ;  I  wish  you  not  to." 

"  O  no  ;  indeed  I  will  not." 

"  And  then  I  am  going  to  Stranton.     Good-bye." 

He  spoke  the  farewell  as  if  it  were  but  for  the  day — 
h'ghtly,  as  he  had  spoken  such  temporary  farewells  many 
times  before — and  she  seemed  to  understand  it  as  such. 
Knight  had  not  the  power  to  tell  her  plainly  that  lie  was 
going  forever ;  he  hardly  knew  for  certain  that  he  was  : 
whether  he  should  rush  back  again  upon  the  current  of  an 
irresistible  emotion,  or  whether  he  could  sufficiently  con- 
quer himself,  and  her  in  him,  to  establish  that  parting  as  a 
supreme  farewell,  and  present  himself  to  the  world  again 
as  no  woman's. 

Ten  minutes  later  he  had  left  the  house,  leaving  direc- 
tions that  if  he  did  not  return  in  the  evening  his  luggage 
was  to  be  sent  to  his  chambers  in  London,  whence  he  in- 
tended to  write  to  Mr.  Swancourt  as  to  the  reasons  of  his 
sudden  departure.  He  descended  the  valley,  and  could 
not  forbear  turning  his  head.  He  saw  the  stubble-field,  and 
a  slight  girlish  figure  in  the  mi-dst  of  it — up  against  the 
sky.  Elfride,  docile  as  ever,  had  hardly  moved  a  step,  for 
he  had  said  Remain.  He  looked  and  saw  her  again — he 
saw  her  for  weeks  and  months.  He  withdrew  his  eyes  from 
the  scene,  swept  his  hand  across  them,  as  if  to  brush  away 
the  sight,  breathed  a  low  groan,  and  went  on. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

"AND  WILT  THOU     LEAVE  ME  THUS  ?— SAY  NAY- 
SAY    NAY  !  " 

THE  scene  shifts  to  Knight's  chambers  in  Bede's  Inn. 
It  was  kite  in  the  evening  of  the  day  following  his 
departure  from  Endelstow,  A  drizzling  rain  descended 
upon  the  metropolis,  forming  a  humid  and  dreary  halo 
over  every  well-lighted  street.  The  rain  had  not  yet  been 
prevalent  long  enough  to  give  to  rapid  vehicles  that  clear 
and  distinct  rattle  which  follows  the  thorough  washing  of 
the  stones  by  a  drenching  rain,  but  was  just  sufficient  to 
make  footway  and  roadway  slippery,  adhesive,  and  clogging 
to  both  feet  and  wheels. 

Knight  was  standing  by  the  tire,  looking  into  its  expir- 
ing embers,  previous  to  emerging  from  his  door  for  a  dreary 
journey  home  to  Richmond.  His  hat  was  on,  and  the  gas 
turned  off.  The  blind  of  the  window  overlooking  the  alley 
was  not  drawn  down ;  and  with  the  light  from  beneath, 
v/hich  shone  over  the  ceiling  of  the  room,  came,  in  place  of 
the  usual  babble,  only  the  reduced  clatter  and  quick  speech 
which  were  the  result  of  necessity  rather  than  choice. 

While  he  thus  stood,  waiting  for  the  expiration  of  the 
few  minutes  that  were  wanting  to  the  time  for  his  catching 
the  train,  a  light  tapping  upon  the  door  mingled  with  the 
other  sounds  that  reached  his  ears.  It  was  so  faint  at  first 
that  the  outer  noises  were  almost  sufficient  to  drown  it. 
Finding  it  repeated,  Knight  crossed  the  lobby,  crowded  with 
books  and  rubbish,  and  opened  the  door. 

A  woman,  closely  muffled  up,  but  visibly  of  fragile  build, 
was  standing  on  the  landing  under  the  gaslight.  She 
sprang  forward,  flung  her  arms  round  the  neck  of  Knight, 
and  uttered  a  low  cry. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES,  345 

"  O  Harry,  Harry,  you  are  killing  me  !  I  could  not  help 
coming.  Don't  send  me  away — don't !  Forgive  your  Elfride 
for  coming — I  love  you  so  !  " 

Knight's  agitation  and  astonishment  mastered  him  for 
a  few  moments. 

"  Elfride  !  "  he  cried,  "  what  does  this  mean  ?  What 
have  you  done  !  " 

"  Do  not  hurt  me  and  punish  me — O,  do  not  I  I  couldn't 
help  coming  ;  it  was  killing  me.  Last  night  when  you  did 
not  come  back,  I  could  not  bear  it — I  could  not !  Only  let 
me  be  with  you,  and  see  your  face,  Harry ;  I  don't  ask  for 
more." 

Her  eyelfds  were  hot,  heavy,  and  thick  with  excessive 
weeping,  and  the  delicate  rose-red  of  her  cheeks  was  disfig- 
ured and  inflamed  by  the  constant  chafing  of  the  handker- 
chief in  wiping  her  many  tears. 

"  Who  is  with  you  ?  Have  you  come  alone  ?  "  he  hur- 
riedly inquired. 

"  Yes.  When  you  did  not  come  last  night,  I  sat  up 
hoping  you  would  come — and  the  night  was  all  agony — and 
I  waited  on  and  on,  and  you  did  not  come  !  Then  when  it 
was  morning,  and  your  letter  said  you  were  gone,  T  could 
not  endure  it;  and  I  ran  away  from  them  to  St.  Kirrs,  and 
came  by  the  train.  And  I  have  been  all  day  travelling  to 
you,  and  you  won't  make  me  go  away  again,  will  you,  Harry, 
because  I  shall  always  love  you  till  I  die  ? " 

*' Yet  it  is  wrong  for  you  to  stay.  O,  Elfride,  what  have 
you  committed  yourself  to  .^  It  is  ruin  to  your  good  name 
to  run  to  me  like  this  !  Has  not  your  first  experience  been 
sufficient  to  keep  you  from  these  things  ? " 

"  My  name  !  Harry,  I  shall  soon  die,  and  what  good 
will  my  name  be  to  me  then  ?  O,  could  /  but  b^  the  man 
and  you  the  woman,  I  would  not  leave  you  for  such  a  little 
fault  as  nine  !  Do  not  think  it  was  so  vile  a  thing  in  me 
to  run  away  with  him.  Ah,  how  I  wish  you  could  have 
run  away  with  twenty  women  before  you  knew  me,  that 
I  might  show  you  I  would  think  it  no  fault,  but  be  glad  to 
get  you  after  them  all,  so  that  I  had  you  !  If  you  only 
knew  me  through  and  through,  how  true  I  am,  Harry.  Can- 
not I  be  yours  ?  Say  you  love  me  just  the  same,  and  don't 
let  me  be  separated  from  you  again,  will  you  ?     I  cannot 

IS* 


346  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

beat  it — all  the  long  hours  and  days  and  nights  going  on, 
and  you  not  there,  but  away  because  you  hate  me  !  " 

"  Not  hate  you,  Elfride,"  he  said  gently,  and  supported 
her  with  his  arm.  "  But  you  cannot  stay  here  now — ^just  at 
present,  I  mean." 

"I  suppose  I  must  not — I  wish  I  might.  I  am  afraid 
that  if — you  lose  sight  of  me — something  dark  will  happen, 
and  we  shall  not  meet  again.  Harry,  if  I  am  not  good 
enough  to  be  your  wife,  I  wish  I  could  be  your  servant  and 
live  with  you,  and  not  be  sent  away  never  to  see  you  again. 
I  don't  mind  what  it  is  except  that." 

"  No  I  cannot  send  you  away :  I  cannot.  God  knows 
what  dark  future  may  arise  out  of  this  evening's  work ;  but 
I  cannot  send  you  away  !  You  must  sit  down,  and  I  will 
endeavor  to  collect  my  thoughts  and  see  what  had  better 
be  done." 

At  that  moment  a  loud  knocking  at  the  house  door  was 
heard  by  both,  accompanied  by  a  hurried  ringing  of  the  bell 
that  echoed  from  attic  to  basement.  The  door  was  quickly 
opened,  and  after  a  few  hasty  words  of  converse  in  the  hall, 
heavy  footsteps  ascended  the  stairs. 

The  face  of  Mr.  Swancourt,  flushed,  grieved,  and  stern, 
appeared  round  the  landing  of  the  staircase.  He  came 
higher  up,  and  stood  beside  them.  Glancing  over  and  past 
Knight  with  silent  indignation,  he  turned  to  the  trembling 
girl. 

"  O,  Elfride,  and  have  I  found  you  at  last !  Are  these 
your  tricks,  madam  ?  When  will  you  get  rid  of  your  idiocies, 
and  conduct  yourself  like  a  decent  woman  t  Is  my  family 
name  and  house  to  be  disgraced  by  acts  that  would  be  a 
scandal  to  a  washerwoman's  daughter?  Come  along, 
madam  ;  come  !  " 

''  She  is  so  weary  !  "  said  Knight  in  a  voice  of  intensest 
anguish.  "  Mr.  Swancourt,  don't  be  harsh  with  her — let  me 
beg  of  you  to  be  tender  with  her,  and  love  her !  " 

"To  you,  sir,"  said  Mr  Swancourt,  turning  to  him  as  if 
by  the  sheer  pressure  of  circumstances, "  I  have  little  to  say. 
I  can  only  remark,  that  the  sooner  I  can  retire  from  your 
presence  the  belter  I  shall  be  pleased.  Why  you  could  not 
conduct  your  courtship  of  my  daughter  like  an  honest  man, 
I  do  not  know.     Why  she — a  foolish  inexperienced  girl— 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  347 

should  have  been  tempted  to  this  piece  of  folly,  I  do  not 
know.  Even  if  she  had  not  known  better  than  to  leave  her 
home,  you  might  have,  I  should  think." 

•'  It  is  not  his  fault :  he  did  not  tempt  me,  papa  !  I  came." 

"  If  you  wished  tlie  marriage  broken  off,  why  didn't  you 
say  so  plainly  ?  If  you  never  intended  to  marry,  why  could 
you  not  leave  her  alone  ?  Upon  my  soul,  it  grates  me  to 
the  heart  to  be  obliged  to  think  so  ill  of  a  man  I  thought 
my  friend  !  " 

Knight,  soul-sick  and  weary  of  his  life,  did  not  arouse 
himself  to  utter  a  word  in  reply.  How  should  he  defend 
himself  when  his  defence  was  the  accusation  4of  Elfride  ? 
On  that  account  he  felt  a  miserable  satisfaction  in  letting 
her  father  go  on  thinking  and  speaking  wrongfully.  It  was 
a  faint  ray  of  pleasure  straying  into  the  great  gloominess  of 
his  brain  to  think  that  the  vicar  might  never  know  but  that 
he,  as  her  lover,  tempted  her  away,  which  seemed  to  be  the 
form  Mr.  Swancourt's  misapprehension  had  taken. 

"  Now  are  you  coming  ? "  said  Mr.  Swancourt  to  her 
again.  He  took  her  unresisting  hand,  drew  it  within  his 
arm  and  led  her  down  the  stairs.  Knight's  eyes  followed 
her,  the  last  moment  begetting  in  him  a  frantic  hope  that 
she  would  turn  her  head.  She  passed  on,  and  never  looked 
back. 

He  heard  the  door  open — close  again.  The  wheels  of 
a  cab  grazed  the  curbstone,  a  murmured  direction  follow- 
ed. The  door  was  slammed  together,  the  wheels  moved, 
and  they  rolled  away. 

From  that  hour  of  her  reappearance  a  dreadful  con- 
flict raged  within  the  breast  of  Henry  Knight.  His  in- 
stinct, emotion,  affectiveness — or  whatever  it  may  be 
called — urged  him  to  stand  forward,  seize  upon  Elfride, 
and  be  her  cherisher  and  protector  through  life.  Then 
came  the  devastating  thought  that  Elfride's  child- Hke,  un- 
reasoning, and  indiscreet  act  in  flying  to  him  only  proved 
that  the  proprieties  must  be  a  dead  letter  with  her ;  that 
the  unreserve,  which  was  really  artlessness  without  ballast, 
meant  indifference  to  decorum  ;  and  v/hat  so  likely  as  that 
such  a  woman  had  been  deceived  in  the  past .?  He  said 
to  himself,  in  a  mood  of  the  bitterest  cynicism  :  "The  sus- 
picious discreet  woman  who  imagines  dark  and  evil  things 


348  ^  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES, 

of  all  her  fellow  creatures,  is  far  too  shrewd  to  be  deluded 
by  man :  trusting  beings  like  Elfride  are  the  women  who 
fall." 

Hours  and  days  went  by,  and  Knight  remained  inac- 
tive. Lengthening  time,  which  made  fainter  the  heart- 
awakening  power  of  her  presence,  strengthened  the  men- 
tal ability  to  reason  her  down.  Elfride  loved  him,  he 
knew,  and  he  could  not  leave  off  loving  her ;  but  marry 
her  he  would  not.  If  she  could  but  be  again  his  own  El- 
fride— the  woman  she  had  seemed  to  be — ^but  that  woman 
was  dead  and  buried,  and  he  knew  her  no  more !  And 
how  could  he  marry  this  Elfride,  one  who,  if  he  had  origi- 
nally seen  her  as  she  was,  would  have  been  barely  an  inter- 
esting pitiable  acquaintance  in  his  eyes — no  more  ? 

It  cankered  his  heart  to  think  he  was  confronted  by 
the  closest  instance  of  a  worse  state  of  things  than  any  he 
had  assumed  in  the  pleasant  social  philosophy  and  satire 
of  his  essays. 

The  moral  purity  of  this  man's  life  was  worthy  of  all 
praise ;  but  in  spite  of  some  intellectual  acumen,  Knight 
had  in  him  a  modicum  of  that  wrong-headedness  which  is 
mostly  found  in  scrupulously  honest  people.  With  him, 
truth  seemed  too  clean  and  pure  an  abstraction  to  be  so 
hopelessly  churned  in  with  error  as  practical  persons  find 
it.  Having  now  seen  himself  mistaken  in  supposing  P^l- 
fride  to  be  peerless,  nothing  on  earth  could  make  hini 
believe  she  was  not  so  very  bad  after  all. 

He  lingered  in  town  a  fortnight,  doing  little  else  than 
vibrate  between  passion  and  opinions.  One  idea  re- 
mained intact — that  it  was  better  Elfride  and  himself 
should  not  meet. 

When  he  surveyed  the  volumes  on  his  shelves — few  of 
which  had  been  opened  since  Elfride  first  took  possession 
of  his  heart — their  untouched  and  orderly  arrangement 
reproached  him  as  an  apostate  from  the  old  faith  of  his 
youth  and  early  manhood.  He  had  deserted  those  never- 
failing  friends,  so  they  seemed  to  say,  for  an  unstable 
delight  in  a  ductile  woman,  which  had  ended  all  in  bitter- 
ness. The  spirit  of  self-denial,  verging  on  asceticism, 
which  had  ever  animated  Knight  in  old  times,  announced 
itself  as  having  departed  with  the  birth  of  love,  and  that 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


349 


with  it  had  gone  the  self-respect  which  had  compensated 
for  the  lack  of  selfgratification.  Poor  little  Elfride, 
instead  of  having,  as  formerly,  a  place  in  his  religion, 
began  to  assume  the  hue  of  a  temptation.  Perhaps  it  was 
human  and  correctly  natural  that  Knight  never  once 
thought  whether  he  did  not  owe  her  a  little  sacrifice  for 
her  unchary  devotion  in  saving  his  life. 

With  a  consciousness  of  having  thus,  like  Antony, 
kissed  away  kingdoms  and  provinces,  he  next  considered 
how  he  had  revealed  his  higher  secrets  and  intentions  to 
her,  an  unreserve  he  would  never  have  allowed  himself 
with  any  man  living.  How  was  it  that  he  had  not  been 
able  to  refrain  from  telling  her  of  adumbrations  heretofore 
locked  in  the  closest  strongholds  of  his  mind  ? 

Knight's  was  a  robust  intellect,  which  could  escape 
outside  the  atmosphere  of  heart,  and  perceive  that  his  own 
love,  as  well  as  other  people's,  could  be  reduced  by  change 
of  scene  and  circumstances.  At  the  same  time  the  per- 
ception was  a  superimposed  sorrow  : 

"  O  last  regret,  regret  can  die  !  " 

But  being  convinced  that  the  death  of  this  regret  was  the 
best  thing  for  him,  he  did  not  long  shrink  from  attempting  it. 
He  closed  his  chambers,  suspended  his  connection  with 
editors,  and  left  London  for  the  Continent.  Here  we  will 
leave  him  to  wander  without  purpose,  beyond  the  nominal 
one  of  encouraging  obliviousness  of  Elfride. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

"  THE  PENNIE'S  the  JEWEL  THAT  BEAUITFIES  A."  * 

"  T   CAN'T  think  what's  coming  to  these  St.  Kirrs  shop- 
J[    people  nohow  at  all." 
"  With  their  '  How-d'ye-do's,'  do  you  mane  ?  " 
"  Ay,  with  their  '  How-d'ye-do's,'  and  shaking  of  hands, 
asking  me  in,  and  tender  inquiries  for  you,  John." 

These  words  formed  part  of  a  conversation  between 
John  Smith  and  his  wife  Maria  on  a  Saturday  evening  in 
the  spring  which  followed  Knight's  departure  from  Eng- 
land. Stephen  had  long  since  returned  to  India  ;  and  the 
wrinkled  couple  themselves  had  migrated  from  Lord  Lux- 
ellian's  park  at  Endelstow  to  a  comfortable  roadside 
dwelling  about  a  mile  out  of  St.  Kirrs,  where  John  had 
opened  a  small  stone  and  slate  yard  in  his  own  name. 

*'  When  we  came  here  six  months  ago,"  continued  Mrs. 
Smith,  •'  though  I  had  paid  upright  gold  so  many  years  in 
the  town,  they'd  only  speak  over  the  counter.  Meet  'em 
in  the  street  half  an  hour  after,  and  they'd  treat  me  with 
staring  ig;norance  of  my  face." 

"  Look  through  ye  as  through  a  glass  winder  ?  " 
*'  Ay,  the  brazen  ones  would.  The  quiet-cool  would 
glare  over  the  top  of  me  head,  past  me  side,  over  me 
shoulder,  but  never  meet  me  eye.  The  gentle-modest 
would  turn  their  faces  south  if  I  were  coming  east,  flit 
down  a  passage  if  I  was  about  to  halve  the  pavement  with 
them.  There's  that  Joakes's  wife — knew  me  a  girl — mar- 
ried a  poor  little  calico-needles-and-pins  sort  of  drapery 
man,  with  nothing  between  him  and  starvation  but  his 
counter  and  yard  measure.  They  scrimped  and  they 
pimped  in  that  mite  of  a  shop  ;  entreated  for  my  custom ; 
and  so  they  got  on,  till  he's  now  Lord  Mayor  of  St.  Kirrs ; 
and  as  for  she,  she's  Lord — " 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES,  3  5 1 

"  Lord  knows  what,  you  may  as  well  say." 

"  Well,  that  woman,  after  talking  to  me  by  the  half- 
hour  in  her  shop,  and  getting  her  shop-maids  to  push  all 
sorts  of  rubbish  into  my  hands,  which  I  have  bought  only 
to  oblige  them  many  a  time,  has  met  me  an  hour  after, 
when  sunning  herself  among  her  dress  acquaintance  on 
the  pavement,  looked  as  if  she'd  been  shot  at  catching 
sight  of  me,  with  my  honest  bundles  and  baskets  a-coming 
along,  and  edged  all  in  a  consternation  round  the  corner, 
to  escape  meeting  and  speaking  to  me.  You  see  they 
can't  afford  very  well  to  do  the  stranger  to  your  face,  for 
fear  of  losing  your  custom,  so  they  wamble  off.  There 
was  the  spruce  young  bookseller  would  play  the  same 
tricks ;  the  butcher's  daughters  ;  the  upholsterer's  young 
men.  Hand  in  glove  when  out  of  sight  with  you ;  but 
ready  to  spend  money  rather  than  speak  when  cutting 
their  dash  outside  the  door.'* 

"  True  enough,  Mariar." 

"  Well,  to-day  'tis  all  different.  I'd  no  sooner  got  to 
market  than  that  same  miserable  Mother  Joakes  rushed 
up  to  me  in  the  eyes  of  the  town  and  said,  "  My  dear  Mrs. 
Smith,  now  you  must  be  tired  with  your  walk  !  Come  in 
and  have  some  lunch  !  1  insist  upon  it ;  knowing  you  so 
many  years  as  I  have  !  Don't  you  remember  when  we 
used  to  go  looking  for  even-ashes  together  in  Benvil  Lane  t " 
There's  no  knowing  what  you  may  need,  so  1  answered  the 
woman  civil.  I  hadn't  got  to  the  corner  before  that  young 
grocer,  Sweet,  who's  quite  the  dand,  ran  after  me  out  of 
breath.  *  Mrs,  Smith,'  he  says,  '  excuse  my  rudeness,  but 
there's  a  bramble  on  the  tail  of  your  dress,  which  youVe 
dragged  in  from  the  country ;  allow  me  to  pull  it  off  for 
you.'  If  you'll  believe  me,  this  was  in  the  very  front  of 
the  Town  hall.     What's  the  meaning  on't  ? " 

"  Can't  say ;  unless  'tis  repentance." 

"  Repentance  !  was  there  ever  such  a  fool  as  you,  John  r 
Did  anybody  ever  repent  wi'  money  in's  pocket?  " 

"Now,  I've  been  thinking  too,"  said  John,  passing 
over  the  query  as  hardly  pertinent,  "  that  I've  had  more 
loving-kindness  from  those  large-windered  gentry  today 
than  I  ever  have  before  since  we  moved  here.  Why,  old 
Alderman  Tope  walked  out  to  the  middle  of  the   street 


252  ^  P^IR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

where  I  were,  to  shake  hands  with  me — so  'a  did.     Having 
on  my   working  clothes,  I  thought  'twas  odd.     Ay,    and 
there  were  Porphinham." 
"Who's  he.?" 

"  Why,  the  music-man  in  North-street,  who  d'sell  drums, 
trumpets,  and  fiddles,  and  grate  varnished  pehanners.  He 
was  talking  to  Tinkleton,  that  very  small  bachelor-man 
with  money  in  the  funds.  I  was  going  by,  I'm  sure,  with- 
out thinking  or  expecting  a  nod  from  men  of  that  class 
when  I  was  in  my  working  clotheS: — " 

"You  always  will  go  poking  into  town  in  your  working 
clothes.     Beg  ye  to  change  how  I  will,  'tis  no  use." 

"  Well,  however,  1  were  in  my  working  clothes.  Por- 
phinham seed  me.  'Ah,  Mr.  Smith!  a  fine  morning; 
excellent  weather  for  building,'  says  he,  out  as  loud  and 
friendly  as  if  I'd  n.et  'em  in  some  deep  hoilow,  where  no- 
body could  have  seen  him  speak  at  all.  'Twas  odd  ;  for 
Porphinham  is  one  of  the  very  rii  gleadeis  of  the  uppish 
class." 

At  that  moment  a  tap  came  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Smith 
immediately  rose  and  opened  it. 

"  You'll  excuse  us,  I'm  sure,  Mrs.  Smith,  but  this  beau- 
tiful spring  weather  was  too  much  for  us.  Yes,  and  we 
could  stay  in  no  longer ;  and  I  took  Mrs.  Trigg  upon  my 
arm  directly  my  assistant  came  back  from  tea,  and  out  we 
came.  And  seeing  your  beautiful  crocuses  in  such  a  bloom, 
we've  took  the  liberty  to  enter.  We'll  step  round  the  gar- 
den, if  you  don't  mind." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Smith;  and  they  walked  round 
the  garden.  She  lifted  her  hands  in  amazement  directly 
their  backs  were  turned.  "  Goodness  send  us  grace  !  " 
"  Who  be  they  ? "  said  her  husband. 
"Actually  Mr.  Trigg,  the  gentleman-barber,  and  his 
lady.  Till  to-day  they'd  have  fallen  over  us  afore  they'd 
have  spoke,  even  out  here  in  the  country,  leave  alone  on 
the  pavement." 

John  Smith,  staggered  in  mind,  went  out  of  doors  and 
looked  over  the  garden  gate,  to  collect  his  astounded  ideas. 
He  had  not  been  there  two  minutes  when  wheels  were 
heard,  and  a  carriage  and  pair  rolled  along  the  road.  A 
distu»2uished-looking  female,  with  a  demeanor  somewhere 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES,  353 

between  that  of  a  duchess  and  an  honorable,  reclined 
within.  When  opposite  Smith's  gate  she  turned  her  head, 
and  instantly  commanded  the  coachman  to  stop. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Smith,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  looking  so  well. 
T  could  not  help  stopping  a  moment  to  congratulate  you 
and  Mrs.  Smith  upon  the  happiness  you  must  enjoy.  Ah ! 
— eh — good  evening.     Joseph,  you  may  drive  on." 

And  the  carriage  rolled  away  towards  St.  Kirrs. 

Out  rushed  Mrs.  Smhh  from  behind  a  laurel-bush, 
where  she  had  squatted,  listening. 

"Just  going  to  touch  my  hat  to  her  !  "  said  John  ;  "just 
for  all  the  world  as  I  would  have  to  poor  Lady  Luxellian 
years  ago." 

"Lord,  who  is  she?" 

"  The  public-house  woman — what's  her  name  ?  Mrs. — 
Mrs.  at  the  Falcon." 

"  Public-house  !  The  ignorance  of  the  Smith  family,  I 
never  !  You  might  say  the  proprietor  of  the  Falcon  Hotel's 
lady,  and  cost  no  more.  The  St.  Kirrs  people  are  ridicu- 
lous enough,  but  give  them  their  due." 

The  possibility  is  that  Mrs.  Smith  was  getting  mollified, 
in  spite  of  herself,  by  these  remarkably  friendly  phenomena 
among  the  people  of  St.  Kirrs. 

By  this  time  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trigg  were  returning  from 
the  garden. 

"  ril  ask  'em  flat,"  whispered  John  to  his  wife.  "  I'll 
say,  *  We  be  in  a  fog — you'll  excuse  my  asking  a  question, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trigg.  How  is  it  all  you  gentlemen-shop- 
men be  so  friendly  to-day?'  Hey?  'Twould  sound  right 
and  sensible,  wouldn't  it,  Mariar  ? " 

"  Not  a  word !  Good  mercy,  when  will  the  man  have 
manners ! " 

"  It  must  be  a  proud  moment  for  you,  I  am  sure,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Smith,  to  have  a  son  so  celebrated,"  said  the 
gentleman-barber,  advancing. 

"  Ah,  'tis  Stephen — I  knew  it !  '*  cried  Mrs.  Smith  tri- 
umphantly. 

"  We  don't  know  particulars,"  said  John  eagerly. 

"  Not  know  !  " 

*'  No." 

"  Why,  'tis  all  over  town.     Our  worthy  mayor  alluded 


354 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 


to  it  in  3  speech  at  the  dinner  last  night  of  the  Every-Man- 
his-own-IIero  Club,  which  lately  presented  hira  with  a 
beautiful  silver  smoking  service  and  embossed  set  of  spit- 
toons, for  his  able  support  of  the  Soul-above-Shops  Associ- 
ation ;  which  I  am  happy  to  say  we  have  started  in  oppo- 
sition to  the  old  Honor-your-Betters  Society,  kept  up  by 
the  country  squires." 

"  And  what  about  Stephen  ? "  screamed  Mrs.  Smith  ec- 
statically, cutting  a  caper. 

"  Why  your  son  has  been  feeted  by  deputy-governors 
and  Parsee  princes  and  nobody-knows-who  in  India  ;  is 
hand  in  glove  with  nabobs,  and  is  to  design  a  large  palace, 
cathedral,  hospitals,  colleges,  halls,  fortifications,  by  the 
general  consent  of  the  ruling  powers,  Christian,  Pagan, 
and  Devilish,  all  alike." 

"  'Twas  sure  to  come  to  the  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Smith 
grandly. 

"'Tisin  yesterday's  A'/rrj  Chronicle;  and  our  worthy 
mayor  in  the  chair  introduced  the  subject  into  his  speech 
last  night  in  a  masterly  manner.  *  Yes,'  said  he,  '  St.  Kirrs 
has  her  glories,  gentlemen.  And  I  blush  with  pleasure 
when  I  find  recorded  in  to-day's  paper  the  intellectual  and 
artistic  prowess  of  our  friend  Mr.  Stephen  Smith,  son  of 
Mr.  John  Smith,  so  well  known  to  us  all.  Stratford  has 
her  Shakespeare,  Penzance  has  her  Davy,  Bristol  has  her 
Chatterton,  London  has  her  Heaven-knows-who,  and  St. 
Kirrs  has  her  Smith.  Yes,  fellow  townsmen,'  he  went  on  in 
the  chair,  '  we  may  well  be  proud  to  find  that  Mr.  John 
Smith,  to  whom,  humble  in  life  as  he  is,  /  am  related  on  the 
mother''s  side^  was  a  native  of  this  town — '  " 

"  Not  at  all  ! "  said  John.  *'  I  wer  born  in  Snoke's 
Hut,  Duddlecome-lane,  half  a  mile  out  of  St.  Kirrs;  I'll 
take  my  oath  I  wer  ! " 

"  Half  a  mile's  nothing  where  glory's  concerned  ;  don't 
be  so  foolish  particular,  John  !  Quarrel  wi'  your  own  bread 
and  cheese — that's  you.  'Twas  very  good  of  the  worthy 
mayor  in  the  chair,  I'm  sure." 

'*  Well,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smith,  the  evening  closes  in,  and 
we  must  be  going ;  and  remember  this,  that  every  Saturday 
when  you  come  into  market,  you  are  to  make  our  house  as 
your  own      There  will  be  alwn^s  a  teacup  and  saucer  foi 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 


35S 


you,  as  you  know  there  has  been  for  years,  thougli  fou  may 
have  forgotten  it.  I  am  a  plain-speaking  woman,  and  what 
I  say  I  mean." 

When  the  visitors  were  gone,  and  the  sun  was  set,  and 
the  moon's  rays  were  just  beginning  to  assert  themselves 
upon  the  walls  of  the  dwelling,  John  Smith  and  his  wife  sat 
down  to  the  newspaper  they  had  hastily  procured  from  the 
town.  And  when  the  reading  was  done,  they  considered 
how  best  to  meet  the  new  social  requirements  settling  upon 
them,  which  Mrs.  Smith  considered  could  be  done  by  new 
furniture  and  house  enlargement  alone. 

"  And,  John,  mind  one  thing,"  she  said  in  conclusion. 
*' In  writing  to  the  boy,  never  by  any  means  mention  the 
name  of  Elfride  Swancourt  again.  We've  left  the  place, 
and  know  no  more  about  her  except  by  hearsay.  He  seemed 
to  be  getting  free  of  her,  and  glad  am  I  for  it.  It  was  a 
cloudy  hour  for  him  when  he  first  set  eyes  upon  the  girl. 
That  family's  been  no  good  to  him,  first  or  last ;  so  let  them 
keep  their  blood  to  themselves  if  they  want  to.  He  thinks 
of  her,  I  know,  but  not  so  hopeless-like.  So  don't  try 
to  know  anything  about  her,  and  we  can't  answer  his  ques- 
tions.    She  may  die  out  of  him  then." 

"  That  shall  be  it,"  said  John. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

"AFTER   MANY    DAYS." 

KNIGHT  roamed  south,  under  color  of  studying  Con- 
tinental antiquities. 
He  paced  the  loft}^  aisles  of  Amiens,  loitered  by  Arden- 
nes Abbey,  climbed  into  the  strange  towers  of  Laon,  analyz- 
ed Noyon  and  Rheims.  Then  he  went  to  Chartres,  and  ex- 
amined its  scaly  spires  and  quaint  carving:  then  he  idled 
about  Coutances.  He  rowed  beneath  the  base  of  Mont 
St.  Michel,  and  caught  the  varied  sky-line  of  the  crumbling 
edifices  encrusting  it.  St.  Ouen's,  Rouen,  knew  him  for 
days  ;  so  did  Vezelay,  Sens,  and  many  a  hallowed  monu- 
ment besides.  Abandoning  the  inspection  of  early  French 
art  with  the  same  purposeless  haste  as  he  had  undertaken 
it,  he  went  farther  and  lingered  about  Ferrara,  Padua,  and 
Pisa.  Satiated  with  medisevalism,  he  tried  Rome.  Next 
he  observed  moonlight  and  starlight  effects  by  the  bay  of 
Naples.  He  turned  to  Austria,  became  enervated  and 
depressed  on  Hungarian  and  Bohemian  plains,  and  was 
refreshed  again  by  breezes  on  the  declivities  of  the  Carpa- 
thians. Then  he  found  himself  in  Greece.  He  visited  the 
plain  of  Marathon,  and  strove  to  imagine  the  Persian  de- 
feat ;  to  Mars  Hill,  to  picture  St.  Paul  addressing  the 
ancient  Athenians;  to  Thermopylae  and  Salamis,  to  run 
tlirough  the  facts  and  traditions  of  the  Second  Invasion— 
the  result  of  his  endeavors  being  all  more  or  less  a  failure. 
Knight  grew  as  weary  of  these  places  as  of  all  others. 
Then  he  felt  the  shock  of  an  earthquake  in  the  Ionian 
Islands,  and  went  to  Venice.  Here  he  shot  in  gondolas 
up  and  down  the  winding  thoroughfare  of  the  Grand 
Canal,  and  loitered  on  calle  and  piazza  at  night,  when  the 
lagunes  were  undisturbed  by  a  ripple,  and  no  sound  was  to 
be  heard  but  the  stroke  of  the  midnight  clock.     Afterwards, 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  357 

he  lemained  for  weeks  in  the  museums,  galleries,  and  libra 
ries  of  Vienna,  Berlin,  and  Paris  ;  and  thence  came  home. 

Time  thus  rolls  us  on  to  a  February  afternoon,  divided 
by  fifteen  months  from  the  parting  of  Elfride  and  her  lover 
in  the  brown  stubble-field  towards  the  sea. 

Two  men  with  weather-stained  faces  met  by  accident 
on  one  of  the  gravel  walks  .eading  across  Hyde  Park.  The 
younger,  more  given  to  looking  about  him  than  his  fellow, 
saw  and  noticed  the  approach  of  his  senior  some  time  before 
the  latter  had  raised  his  eyes  from  the  ground,  upon  which 
they  were  bent  in  an  abstracted  gaze  that  seemed  habitual 
with  him. 

"  Mr.  Knight— indeed  it  is  !  "  exclaimed  the  younger 
man. 

"  Ah,  Stephen  Smith  1"  said  Knight. 

Simultaneous  operations  might  now  have  been  observed 
to  be  going  on  in  both.  They  collected  their  thoughts,  the 
result  being  that  an  expression  less  frank  and  impulsive 
than  the  first  took  possession  of  their  features.  It  was 
manifested  that  the  first  words  uttered  were  a  superficial 
covering  to  constraint  on  both  sides. 

"  Have  you  been  in  England  long  ?  "  said  Knight. 

'*  Only  two  days,"  said  Smith. 

"India  ev^er  since? " 

"  Nearly  ever  since." 

"They  were  making  a  fuss  about  you  at  St.  Kirrs  last 
year.     I  fancy  I  saw  something  of  the  sort  in  the  papers." 

"  Yes  ;  I  believe  something  was  said  about  me.  People 
will,  you  know." 

"  I  must  congratulate  you  on  your  achievements." 

"Thanks,  but  they  are  nothing  very  extraordinary.  A 
natural  professional  progress  where  there  was  no  opposition." 

There  followed  that  want  of  words  which  will  always 
assert  itself  between  nominal  friends  who  find  they  have 
ceased  to  be  real  ones,  and  have  not  yet  sunk  to  the  level  of 
■casual  acnuaintance.  Each  looked  up  and  down  the  Park. 
Knight  may  possibly  have  borne  in  mind  during  the  inter- 
vening months  Stephen's  manner  towards  him  the  last  time 
they  had  met,  and  may  have  encouraged  his  former  interest 
in  Stephen's  welfare  to  die  out  of  him  as  misplaced.  Ste- 
phen certainly  was  full  of  the   feelings  begotten   by    the 


358  ^  P^^P-  OP  BLUE  EYES. 

belief  that  Knight  had  taken  away  the  woman  he  loved  so 
well. 

Stephen  Smith  then  asked  a  question,  adopting  a  certain 
recklessness  of  manner  and  tone  to  hide,  if  possible,  the 
fact  that  the  subject  was  a  much  greater  one  to  him  than 
his  friend  had  ever  supposed. 

'^  Are  you  married  ?  " 

"I  am  not." 

Knight  spoke  in  an  indescribable  tone  of  bitterness  that 
was  almost  moroseness. 

"  And  I  never  shall  be,"  he  added  decisively.  "  Are 
you  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Stephen,  sadly  and  quietly,  like  a  man  in  a 
sick-room.  Totally  ignorant  whether  or  not  Knight  knew 
of  his  own  previous  claims  upon  Elfride,  he  yet  resolved  to 
hazard  a  few  more  words  upon  the  topic  which  had  an 
aching  fascination  for  him  even  now." 

"  Then  your  engagement  to  Miss  Swancourt  came  to 
nothing,"  he  said.  "  You  remember  I  met  you  with  her 
once." 

Stephen's  voice  gave  way  a  little  here,  in  defiance  of 
his  firmest  will  to  the  contrary.  Indian  affairs  had  not  yet 
even  lowered  those  emotions  down  to  the  point  of  control. 

"  It  was  broken  off,"  came  quickly  from  Knight.  "  En- 
gagements to  marry  often  end  like  that — for  better  or  for 
worse." 

"  Yes :  so  they  do.  And  what  have  you  been  doing 
lately .?  " 

•  "Doing?     Nothing." 

"  Where  have  you  been  ? " 

"  I  can  hardly  tell  you.  In  the  main,  going  about  Eu- 
rope ;  and  it  may  perhaps  interest  you  to  know  that  I  have 
been  attempting  the  serious  study  of  Continental  art  of  the 
ISIiddle  Ages.  My  notes  on  each  example  I  visited  are  at 
your  service.     They  are  of  no  use  to  me." 

*'  I  shall  be  pleased  with  them.  .  .  O,  travelling  far  and 
near !  " 

"  Not  far,"  saia  Knight,  with  moody  carelessness. 
"You  know,  I  dare  say,  that  sheep  occasionally  become 
giddy — hydatids  in  the  head,  'tis  called,  in  which  their 
brains   become   eaten   up,    and   the   animal   exhibits   the 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  359 

Strange  peculiarity  of  walking  round  and  round  in  a  circle 
continually.  I  have  travelled  just  in  the  same  way— round 
and  round  like  a  giddy  ram." 

The  reckless,  bitter  and  rambling  style  in  which  Knight 
talked,  as  if  rather  to  vent  his  images  than  to  convey  any 
ideas  to  Stephen,  struck  the  young  man  painfully.  His 
former  friend's  days  had  become  cankered  in  some  way : 
Knight  was  a  changed  man.  He  himself  had  changed 
much,  but  not  as  Knight  had  changed. 

"  Yesterday  I  came  home,"  continued  Knight,  "  with- 
out having,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  imbibed  half  a  dozen 
ideas  worth  retaining."  * 

"You    out-Hamlet    Hamlet  in  morbidness  of  mood, 
said  Stephen,  with  re^-etful  frankness. 

Knight  made  no  reply. 
•    "  Do  you  know,"  Stephen  continued,  "  I   could  almost 
have  sworn  that  you  would  be  married  before   this   time, 
from  what  I  saw  ?  " 

Knight's  face  grew  harder.     "  Could  you  ?  "  he  said. 

Stephen  was  powerless  to  forsake  the  depressing  luring 
subject. 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  simply  wonder  at  it." 

"Whom  did  you  expect  me  to  marry  ?  " 

"  Her  I  saw  you  with." 

"  Thank  you  for  that  wonder." 

"  Did  she  jilt  you  ?  " 

"  Smith,  now  one  word  to  you,"  Knight  returned  stead- 
ily. "  Don't  you  ever  question  me  on  that  subject.  I  have 
a  reason  for  making  this  request,  mind.  And  if  you  do 
question  me,  you  will  not  get  an  answer." 

"  O,  I  don't  for  a  moment  wish  to  ask  what  is  unpleas- 
ant to  you — not  I.  I  had  a  momentary  feeling  that  I 
should  like  to  explain  something  on  my  side,  and  hear  a 
similar  explanation  on  yours.  But  let  it  go,  let  it  go,  by 
all  means." 

"  What  would  you  explain  ? " 

"  I  lost  the  woman  I  was  going  to  marry :  you  have 
not  married  as  you  intended.  We  might  have  compared 
notes."  ^j 

"  I  have  never  asked  you  a  word  about  the  case. 
"  I  know  that." 


360  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

"  And  the  inference  is  obvious." 

"  Quite  so." 

"  The  truth  is,  Stephen,  I  have  doggedly  resolved  never 
to  allude  to  the  matter — for  which  I  have  a  very  good  rea- 
son." 

*'  Doubtless.  As  good  a  reason  as  you  had  for  not  mar- 
rying her." 

"  You  talk  insidiously.  I  had  a  good  one — a  miserably 
good  one !  " 

Smith's  anxiety  urged  him  to  venture  one  more  ques- 
tion. 

"  Did  she  not  love  you  enough  T"  He  drew  his  breath 
in  a  slow  and  attenuated  stream,  as  he  waited  in  timorous 
hope  for  the  answer. 

"Stephen,  you  pass  all  the  bounds  of  ordinary  courtesy 
in  pressing  questions  of  that  kind  after  what  I  have  said. 
I  cannot  understand  you  at  all.     I  must  go  on  now." 

"  Why,  good  God  !  "  exclaimed  Stephen  passionately, 
"you  talk  as  if  you  hadn't  at  all  taken  her  away  from  any- 
body who  had  better  claims  to  her  than  you ! " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that .'' "  said  Knight,  with  a 
puzzled  air.     "  What  have  you  heard  }  " 

"  Nothing.     I  must  go  on.     Good-day." 

"If  you  will  go,"  said  Knight  reluctantly  now,  "you 
must,  I  suppose.  I  am  sure  I  cannot  understand  why  you 
behave  so." 

"  Nor  I  why  you  do.  I  have  always  been  grateful  to 
you,  and  as  far  as  I  am  concerned  we  need  never  have  be- 
come so  estranged  as  we  have." 

"  And  have  1  ever  been  anything  but  well  disposed  to- 
wards you,  Stephen  ?  Surely  you  know  that  I  have  not ! 
The  system  of  reserve  began  with  you  :  you  know  that." 

"  No  no  !  You  altogether  mistake  our  position.  You 
were  always  from  the  first  reserved  to  me,  though  I  was 
confidential  to  you.  That  was,  I  suppose,  the  natural  is- 
sue of  our  differing  positioUiS  in  life.  And  when  I,  the 
pupil,  became  reserved  like  you,  the  master,  you  did  not 
like  it.  However,  I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  come  round 
and  see  me." 

"  Where  are  you  staying  ?  " 

"  At  the  Grosvenor  Hotel,  Pimlico." 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  ^^I 

*'  So  am  I." 

"  That's  convenient,  not  to  say  odd.  Well,  I  am  de- 
tained in  London  for  a  day  or  two  ;  then  I  am  going  down 
to  see  my  father  and  mother,  who  live  at  St.  Kirrs  now. 
Will  you  see  me  this  evening .?  " 

"  I  may  ;  but  T  will  not  promise.  I  was  wishing  to  be 
alone  for  an  hour  oi  two  ;  but  I  shall  kno':/  where  to  find 
you,  at  any  rate.     Good-bye." 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

"JEALOUSY  IS   CRUEL  AS  THE   GF  tVE 


*f 


STEPHEN  pondered  not  a  little  on  this  meeting  with 
his  old  friend  and  once-beloved  exemplar.  He  was 
grieved  ;  for  amid  all  the  distractions  of  his  latter  years  a 
still  small  voice  of  fidelity  to  Knight  had  lingered  on  in 
him.  Perhaps  this  staunchness  was  because  Knight  ever 
treated  him  as  a  mere  disciple — even  to  snubbing  him 
sometimes  ;  and  had  at  last,  though  unwittingly,  inflicted 
upon  him  the  greatest  snub  of  all,  that  of  taking  away  his 
sweetheart.  The  affective  side  of  his  constitution  was 
built  rather  after  a  feminine  than  a  male  model ;  and  that 
tremendous  wound  from  Knight's  hand  may  have  tended 
to  keep  alive  a  warmth  which  solicitousness  would  have 
extinguished  altogether. 

Knight,  on  his  part,  was  vexed,  after  they  had  parted, 
that  he  had  not  taken  Stephen  in  hand  a  little  after  the 
old  manner.  Those  words  which  Smith  had  let  fall  con- 
cerning somebody  having  a  prior  claim  to  Elfride  would,  if 
uttered  when  the  man  were  younger,  have  provoked  such 
a  query  as,  "  Come,  tell  me  all  about  it,  my  lad,"  from 
Knight,  and  Stephen  would  straightway  have  delivered 
himself  of  all  he  knew  on  the  subject. 

Stephen  the  ingenuous  boy,  though  now  obliterated  ex- 
ternally by  Stephen  the  contriving  man,  returned  to 
Knight's  memory  vividly  that  afternoon.  He  was  at  pres- 
ent but  a  sojourner  in  London  ;  and  after  attending  to  the 
two  or  three  matters  of  business  which  remained  to  be 
done  that  day,  he  walked  abstractedly  into  the  gloomy 
corridors  of  the  British  Museum  for  the  half-hour  previous 
to  their  closing.  That  meeting  with  Smith  had  reunited 
the  present  with  the  past,  closing  up  the  chasm  of  his  ab- 
sence from  England  as  if  it  had  never  existed,  until  the 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES,  3^  3 

final  circumstances  of  his  previous  time  of  residence  in 
London  formed  but  a  yesterday  to  the  circumstances  now. 
The  conflict  that  then  had  raged  in  him  concerning  El- 
fride  Swancourt  revived,  strengthened  by  its  sleep.  In- 
deed, in  those  many  months  of  absence,  though  quelling 
the  intention  to  make  her  his  wife,  he  had  never  forgotten 
that  she  was  the  type  of  woman  adapted  to  his  nature ; 
and  instead  of  trying  to  obliterate  thoughts  of  her  altogeth- 
er, he  had  grown  to  regard  them  as  an  infirmity  it  was  ne- 
cessary to  tolerate. 

Knight  returned  to  his  hotel  much  earlier  in  the  even- 
ing than  he  would  have  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things. 
He  did  not  care  to  think  whether  this  arose  from  a  friendly 
wish  to  close  the  gap  that  had  slowly  been  widening  be- 
tween himself  and  his  earliest  acquaintance,  or  from  a 
hankering  desire  to  hear  the  meaning  of  the  dark  oracles 
Stephen  had  hastily  pronounced,  betokening  that  he  knew 
something  more  of  Elfride  than  Knight  had  supposed. 

He  made  a  hasty  dinner,  inquired  for  Smith,  and  soon 
was  ushered  into  the  young  man's  presence,^  whom  he 
found  sitting  in  front  of  a  comfortable  fire,  beside^  a  table 
spread  with  a  few  scientific  periodicals  and  art  reviews. 

"  I  have  come  to  you  after  all,"  said  Knight.  "  My 
manner  was  odd  this  morning,  and  it  seemed  desirable  to 
call  ;  but  that  you  had  too  much  sense  to  notice,  Stephen, 
I  know.  Put  it  down  to  my  wanderings  in  France  and 
Italy." 

"  Don't  say  another  word,  but  sit  down.  I  am  only  too 
glad  to  see  you  again." 

Stephen  would  hardly  have  cared  to  tell  Knight  just 
then  that  the  minute  before  Knight  was  announced  he  had 
been  reading  over  some  old  letters  of  Elfride's.  They 
were  not  many  ;  and  until  to-night  had  been  sealed  up, 
and  stowed  away  in  a  corner  of  his  leather  trunk,  with  a 
few  other  mementoes  and  relics  which  had  accompanied 
him  in  his  travels.  The  familiar  sights  and  sounds  of 
London,  the  meeting  with  his  friend,  had  with  him  also  re- 
vived that  sense  of  abiding  continuity  with  regard  to  El- 
fride and  love  which  his  absence  at  the  other  side  of  the 
world  had  to  some  extent  suspended,  though  never  rup- 
tured.    He  at  first  intended  only  to  look  over  these  letters 


^64  ^  P^^^  OF  BLUE   EYES. 

on  the  outside  ;  then  he  read  one  ;  then  another )  until  the 
whole  were  thus  reused  as  a  stimulus  to  sad  memories. 
He  folded  them  away  again,  placed  them  in  his  pocket, 
and  instead  of  going  on  with  an  examination  into  the  state 
of  the  artistic  world,  had  remained  musing  on  the  strange 
circumstance  that  he  had  returned  to  find  Knight  not  the 
husband  of  Elfride  after  all. 

The  possibility  of  any  given  gratification  begets  a  cres- 
cent sense  of  its  necessity.  Stephen  gave  the  rein  to  his 
imagination,  and  felt  more  intensely  than  he  had  for  many 
months  that,  without  Elfride,  his  life  would  never  be  any 
great  pleasure  to  himself,  or  honor  to  his  Maker. 

They  sat  by  the  fire,  chatting  on  external  and  random 
subjects,  neither  caring  to  be  the  first  to  approach  the 
matter  each  most  longed  to  discuss.  On  the  table  with 
the  periodicals  lay  two  or  three  pocket-books,  one  of  them 
being  open.  Knight,  seeing  from  the  exposed  page  that 
the  contents  were  sketches  only,  began  turning  the  leaves 
over  carelessly  with  his  finger.  When,  some  time  later, 
Stephen  was  out  of  the  room,  Knight  proceeded  to  pass  the 
interval  by  looking  at  the  sketches  more  carefully. 

The  first  crude  ideas,  pertaining  to  dwellings  of  all 
kinds,  were  roughly  outlined  on  the  difi'erent  pages.  An- 
tiquities had  been  copied  ;  fragments  of  Indian  columns, 
colossal  statues,  and  outlandish  ornament  in  general,  from 
the  temples  of  Elephanta  and  Kenneri,  were  carelessly  in- 
truded upon  by  outlines  of  modern  doors,  windows,  roofs, 
cooking-stoves,  and  household  furniture  ;  everything,  in 
short,  which  comes  within  the  range  of  a  modern  archi- 
tect's experience,  who  travels  with  his  eyes  open.  Among 
these  occasionally  appeared  rough  delineations  of  mediaeval 
subjects,  for  carving  or  illumination — heads  of  Virgins, 
Saints,  and  Prophets. 

Stephen  was  not  professedly  a  free-hand  draughthuvjin, 
but  he  drew  the  human  figure  with  correctness  and  skill. 
In  its  numerous  repetitions  on  the  sides  and  edges  of  the 
leaves.  Knight  began  to  notice  a  peculiarity.  All  the  fem- 
inine Saints  had  one  type  of  feature.  There  were  large 
nimbi  and  small  nimbi  about  their  drooping  heads,  but  the 
face  was  always  the  same.  That  profile — how  well  Knight 
knew  that  profile  I 


A  FAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  365 

Had  there  been  but  one  specimen  of  the  familiar  coun- 
tenance, he  might  have  passed  over  the  resemblance  as 
accidental ;  but  a  repetition  meant  more.  Knight  thought 
anew  of  Smith's  hasty  words  earlier  in  the  day,  and  looked 
at  the  sketches  again  and  again. 

On  the  young  man's  entry,  Knight  said  with  palpable 
agitation, 

"  Stephen,  who  are  those  intended  for?  '* 

Stephen  looked  over  the  book  with  utter  unconcern : 

"  Saints  and  angels  done  in  my  leisure  moments.  They 
were  intended  as  designs  for  the  stained  glass  of  an  Eng- 
lish church." 

"  But  whom  do  you  idealize  by  that  type  of  woman  you 
always  adopt  for  the  Virgin  ? " 

"  Nobody." 

And  then  a  thought  raced  along  Stephen's  mind,  and 
he  looked  up  at  his  friend. 

The  truth  is,  Stephen's  introduction  of  Elfride's  linea- 
ments had  been  so  unconscious,  that  he  had  not  at  first  un- 
derstood his  companion's  drift.  The  hand,  like  the  tongue, 
easily  acquires  the  trick  of  repetition  by  rote,  without  call- 
ing in  the  mind  to  assist  at  all,  and  this  had  been  the 
case  here.  Young  men  who  cannot  write  verses  about 
their  Loves  generally  take  to  portraying  them,  and  in  the 
early  days  of  his  attachment  Smith  had  never  been  weary 
of  outlining  Elfride.  The  lay-figure  now  initiated  an 
adjustment  of  many  things.  Knight  had  recognized 
her.  The  opportunity  of  comparing  notes  had  come 
unsought. 

"  Elfride  Swancourt,  to  whom  I  was  engaged,"  he  said 
quietly. 

"Stephen!" 

"  I  know  what  you  mean  by  speaking  like  that." 

"  Was  it  Elfride  ?     You  the  man,  Stephen  ?  " 

"  Yes :  and  you  are  thinking  why  did  I  conceal  the 
fact  from  you  that  time  at  Endelstow,  are  you  not  ? " 

"Yes,  and  more— more." 

"  I  did  it  for  the  best ;  blame  me  if  you  will ;  I  did  it 
for  the  best.  And  now  say  how  could  I  be  with  you  after- 
wards as  I  had  been  before  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  at  all ;  1  can't  say  ? " 


366  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

"  Knight  remained  fixed  in  thought,  and  once  he  miir« 
mured, 

"  I  had  a  suspicion  this  afternoon  that  there  might  be 
some  such  meaning  in  your  words  about  my  taking  her 
away.  But  I  dismissed  it.  How  came  you  to  know  her?  '* 
he  presently  asked,  in  almost  a  peremptory  tone. 

'*  I  went  down  about  the  church  ;  years  ago  now." 

"When  you  were  with  Hewby,  of  course,  of  course. 
Well,  I  can't  understand  it."  His  tones  rose.  "  I  don't 
know  what  to  say,  your  hoodwinking  me  like  this  for  so 
long ! " 

"  T  don't  see  that  I  have  hoodwinked  you  at  all." 

"  Yes,  yes,  but—" 

Knight  arose  from  his  seat,  and  began  pacing  up  and 
down  the  room.  His  face  was  markedly  pale,  and  his  voice 
perturbed,  as  he  said, 

"  You  did  not  act  as  I  should  have  towards  you  under 
those  circumstances.  I  feel  it  deeply ;  and  I  tell  you  plain- 
ly, I  shall  never  forget  it !  " 

"What.?" 

"Your  behavior  at  that  meeting  in  the  family  vault, 
when  I  told  you  we  were  going  to  be  married.  Deception, 
dishonesty,  everywhere  ;  all  the  world's  of  a  piece  !  " 

Stephen  did  not  much  like  this  misconstruction  of  his 
motives,  even  though  it  was  but  the  hasty  conclusion  of  a 
friend  disturbed  by  emotion. 

"  I  could  do  no  otherwise  than  I  did,  with  due  regard 
to  her,"  he  said  stiffly. 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Knight,  in  the  bitterest  tone  of  re- 
proach. "Nor  could  you  with  due  regard  have  married 
her,  I  suppose  !  I  have  hoped— longed — that  he,  who  turns 
out  to  be  you,  would  ultimately  have  done  that." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  that  hope.  But  you 
talk  very  mysteriously.  I  think  I  had  about  the  best  reason 
anybody  could  have  for  not  doing  that." 

"  O,  what  reason  was  it  ? " 

"  That  I  could  not." 

"  You  ought  to  have  made  an  opportunity  ;  you  ought 
to  do  so  now,  in  bare  justice  to  her,  Stephen!"  cried 
Knight,  carried  beyond  himself  "That  3'ou  know  very 
well,  and  it  hurts  and  wounds  me  more  than  you  know  to 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  367 

find  you  never  have  tried  to  make  any  reparation  to  a  wo- 
man of  that  kind— so  trustful,  so  apt  to  be  run  away  with  by 
her  feelings— poor  little  fool,  so  much  the  worse  for  her !  " 

"Wljyyou  talk  like  a  madman!  You  took  her  away 
from  me,  did  you  not  ?  " 

*'  Picking  up  what  another  throws  down  can  scarcely  be 
called,  '  taking  away.'  However,  we  shall  not  agree  too 
well  upon  that  subject,  so  we  had  better  part." 

"But  I  am  quite  certain  you  misapprehend  something 
most  grievously,"  said  Stephen,  shaken  to  the  bottom  of 
his  heart.  "  What  have  I  done  ?  tell  me.  I  have  lost  El- 
fride,  but  is  that  such  a  sin  ?  " 

"  Was  it  her  doing  or  yours  ? " 

"  Was  what  ?  " 

"  That  you  parted." 

*'  I  will  tell  you  honestly.     It  was  hers  entirely,  entirely.*' 

"What  was  her  reason.?" 

"  I  can  hardly  say.  But  I'll  tell  the  story  without  re- 
serve." 

Stephen  until  to-day  had  unhesitatingly  held  that  she 
tired  of  him  and  turned  to  Knight ;  but  he  did  not  like  to 
advance  the  statement  now,  or  even  to  think  the  thought. 
To  fancy  otherwise  accorded  better  with  the  hope  to  which 
Knight's  estrangement  had  given  birth  :  that  love  for  his 
friend  was  not  the  direct  cause,  but  a  result  of  her  suspen- 
sion of  love  for  himself. 

"  Such  a  matter  must  not  be  allowed  to  breed  discord 
between  us,"  Knight  returned,  relapsing  into  a  manner 
which  concealed  all  his  true  feeling,  as  if  confidence  now 
was  intolerable.  "  I  do  see  that  your  reticence  towards  me 
in  the  vault  may  have  been  dictated  by  considerations.'* 
He  concluded  artificially,  "It  was  a  strange  thing  altogeth- 
er ,  but  not  of  much  importance,  I  suppose,  at  this  dis- 
tance of  time ;  and  it  does  not  concern  me  now,  though  J 
don't  mind  hearing  your  story." 

These  words  from  Knight,  uttered  with  such  an  air  of 
renunciation  and  apparent  indifference,  prompted  Smith  to 
speak  on — perhaps  with  a  little  complacency — of  hispid  se- 
cret engagement  to  Elfride.  He  told  the  details  of  its  ori- 
gin, and  the  peremptory  words  and  actions  of  her  father  to 
extinguish  their  love. 


^68  ^  P^IR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

Knight  persevered  in  the  tone  and  manner  of  a  disinter- 
ested outsider.  It  had  become  more  than  ever  imperative 
to  screen  his  emotions  from  Stephen's  eye  ;  the  young  man 
would  be  less  frank,  and  their  meeting  would  be  again  em- 
bittered.    What  was  the  use  of  untoward  candor  ? 

Stephen  had  now  arrived  at  the  point  in  his  ingenuous 
narrative  where  he  left  the  vicarage  because  of  her  father's 
manner.  Knight's  interest  increased.  Their  love  seemed 
so  innocent  and  childlike  thus  far. 

"  It  is  a  nice  point  in  casuistry,"  he  observed,  "  to  de- 
cide whether  you  were  culpable  or  not  in  not  telling  Swan- 
court  that  your  friends  were  poor  parishioners  of  his.  It 
was  only  human  nature  to  hold  your  tongue  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. Well,  what  was  the  result  of  your  dismissal 
by  him?" 

"That  we  agreed  to  be  secretly  faithful.  And  to  in- 
sure this  we  thought  we  would  marry." 

Knight's  suspense  and  agitation  rose  higher  when  Ste- 
phen entered  upon  this  phase  of  the  subject. 

"  Do  you  mind  telling  on  ?  "  he  said,  steadying  his  man- 
ner as  by  a  gymnastic  feat. 

"  O,  not  at  all." 

Then  Stephen  gave  in  full  the  particulars  of  the  meeting 
with  Elfride  at  the  railway  station  ;  the  necessity  they  were 
under  of  going  to  London,  unless  the  ceremony  were  to  be 
postponed.  The  long  journey  of  the  afternoon  and  even- 
ing ;  her  timidity  and  revulsion  of  feeling ;  its  culmination 
on  reaching  London  ;  the  crossing  over  to  the  down-plat- 
form and  their  immediate  departure  again,  solely  in  obedi- 
ence to  her  wish  ;  the  journey  all  night  j  their  anxious 
watching  for  the  dawn ;  their  arrival  at  St.  Kirrs  at  last — 
were  detailed.  And  he  told  how  a  village  woman  named 
Jethway  was  the  only  person  who  recognized  them,  either 
going  or  coming  ;  and  how  dreadfully  this  terrified  Elfride. 
He  told  how  he  waited  in  the  fields  while  his  then  reproach- 
ful sweetheart  went  for  her  pony,  and  how  the  last  kiss  he 
ever  gave  her  was  given  a  mile  out  of  town,  on  the  way  to 
Endelstow. 

These  things  Stephen  related  with  a  will.  He  believed 
that  in  doing  so  he  established  word  by  word  the  reasona- 
bleness of  his  claim  to  Elfride. 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  369 

"  Curse  her  !  curse  that  woman  ! — that  miserable  letter 
that  parted  us !     O  God  ! " 

Knight  began  pacing  the  room  again,  and  uttered  this 
at  the  farther  end. 

''  What  did  you  say  ?  "  said  Stephen,  turning  round. 

"  Say  ?  Did  1  say  anything  ?  O,  I  was  merely  think- 
ing about  your  story,  and  the  oddness  of  my  having  a  fan- 
cy for  the  same  woman  afterwards.  And  that  now  I — I  have 
forgotten  her  almost ;  and  neither  of  us  cares  about  her,  ex- 
cept just  as  a  friend,  you  know,  eh?" 

Knight  still  continued  at  the  farther  end  of  the  roomj 
somewhat  in  shadow. 

"  Exactly,"  said  Stephen,  inwardly  exultant,  for  he  was 
really  deceived  by  Knight's  off-hand  manner. 

Yet  he  was  deceived  less  by  the  completeness  of 
Knight's  disguise  than  by  the  persuasive  power  which  lay 
in  the  fact  that  Knight  had  never  before  deceived  him  in 
anything.  So  this  supposition  that  his  companion  had 
ceased  to  love  Elfride  was  an  enormous  lightening  of  the 
weight  which  had  turned  the  scale  against  him. 

"Admitting  that  YXh'ide  cou/d  love  another  man  after 
you,"  said  the  elder,  under  the  same  varnish  of  careless  crit- 
icism, "  she  was  none  the  worse  for  that  experience." 

"  The  worse  ?     Of  course  she  was  none  the  worse." 

"  Did  you  ever  think  it  a  wild  and  thoughtless  thing  for 
her  to  do  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  never  did,"  said  Stephen.  "  I  persuaded 
her.  She  saw  no  harm  in  it  until  she  decided  to  return, 
nor  did  I  j  nor  was  there,  except  to  the  extent  of  indiscre- 
tion !  " 

"  Directly  she  thought  it  was  wrong  she  would  go  no 
farther  ? " 

"  That  was  it.     I  had  just  begun  to  think  it  wrong  too." 

"  Such  a  childish  escapade  might  have  been  misrepre- 
sented by  any  evil-disposed  person,  might  it  not  ?  " 

"It  might;  but  I  never  heard  that  it  was.  Nobody 
who  really  knew  all  the  circumstances  would  have  done 
otherwise  than  smile.  If  all  the  world  had  known  it,  El- 
fiide  would  still  have  remained  the  only  one  who  thought 
her  action  a  sin.  Poor  child,  she  always  persisted  in  think- 
ing so,  and  was  frightened  more  than  enough.'* 
16* 


370 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES. 


"  Stephen,  do  you  love  her  now  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  like  her  ;  1  always  shall,  you  know,"  he  said 
evasively,  and  with  all  the  strategy  love  suggested.  ''  But 
I  have  not  seen  her  for  so  long  that  I  can  hardly  be  ex- 
pected to  love  her.     Do  you  love  her  still  ?  " 

*'  How  shall  1  answer  without  being  ashamed  ?  What 
fickle  beings  we  men  are,  Stephen  !  Men  may  love  strong- 
est for  a  while,  but  women  love  longest.  I  used  to  love 
her — in  my  way,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  understand.  Ah,  and  I  used  to  love  her  in 
my  way.  In  fact,  I  loved  her  a  good  deal  at  one  time  j 
but  travel  has  a  tendency  to  obliterate  early  fancies." 

"  It  has— it  has,  truly." 

Perhaps  the  most  extraordinary  feature  in  this  conver- 
sation was  the  circumstance  that,  though  each  interlocutor 
had  at  first  his  suspicions  of  the  other's  abiding  passion 
awakened  by  several  little  acts,  neither  would  allow  him- 
self to  see  that  his  friend  might  now  be  speaking  deceit- 
fully as  well  as  he. 

"Stephen,"  resumed  Knight,  "now  that  matters  are 
smooth  between  us,  I  think  I  must  leave  you.  You  won't 
mind  my  hurrying  off  to  my  quarters  ?  " 

"  Youll  stay  to  supper  surely  ?  Why  didn't  you  come 
to  dinner  ? " 

*'  You  must  really  excuse  me  this  once." 

"Then  you'll  drop  in  to  breakfast  to-morrow?  " 

"  I  shall  be  rather  pressed  for  time." 

"  An  early  breakfast,  which  shall  interfere  with  noth- 
ing ? " 

"  I'll  come,"  said  Knight,  with  as  much  readiness  as  it 

was  possible  to  graft  upon  a  huge  stock  of  reluctance. 
*'  Yes,  early  j  eight  o'clock  say,  as  we  are  under  the  same 
roof." 

**  Any  time  you  like.     Eight  it  shall  be." 

And  Knight  left  him.  To  wear  a  mask,  to  dissemble 
his  feelings  as  he  had  in  their  late  miserable  conversation, 
was  such  torture  that  he  could  support  it  no  longer.  It 
was  the  first  time  in  Knight's  life  that  he  had  ever  been  so 
entirely  the  player  of  a  part.  And  the  man  he  had  thus 
deceived  vvas  Stephen,  who  had  docilely  looked  up  to  him 
from  youth  as  a  superior  of  unblemished  integrity. 


/f   PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES,  371 

He  went  to  bed,  and  allowed  the  fever  of  his  excite- 
ment to  rage  uncontrolled.  Stephen — it  was  only  he  who 
was  the  rival — only  Stephen  !  There  was  an  anti-climax 
of  absurdity  which  Knight,  wretched  and  conscience-strick- 
en as  he  was,  could  not  help  recognizing.  Stephen  was 
but  a  boy  to  him.  Where  the  great  grief  lay  was,  in  per- 
ceiving that  the  very  innocence  of  Elfride  in  reading  her 
little  fault  as  one  so  grave  was  what  had  fatally  misled  him. 
Had  Elfride,  with  any  degree  of  coolness,  asserted  that  she 
had  done  no  harm,  the  poisonous  breath  of  the  dead  Mrs. 
Je'.hway  would  have  been  inoperative.  Why  did  he  not 
make  his  little  docile  girl  tell  more  "i  If  on  that  subject  he 
had  only  exercised  the  imperativeness  customary  with  him 
on  others,  all  might  have  been  revealed.  It  smote  his 
heart  like  a  switch  when  he  remembered  how  gently  she 
had  borne  his  scourging  speeches,  never  answering  him 
with  a  single  reproach,  only  assuring  him  of  her  unbound- 
ed love. 

Knight  blessed  Elfride  for  her  sweetness,  and  forgot 
her  fault.  He  pictured  with  a  vivid  fancy  those  fair  sum- 
mer scenes  with  her.  He  again  saw  her  as  at  their  first 
meeting,  timid  at  speaking,  yet  in  her  eagerness  to  be  ex- 
planatory borne  forward  almost  against  her  will.  How  she 
would  wait  for  him  in  green  places,  without  showing  any 
of  the  ordinary  womanly  affectations  of  indifference  !  How 
proud  she  was  to  be  seen  walking  with  him,  bearing  legibly 
in  her  eyes  the  thought  that  he  was  the  greatest  genius  in 
the  world ! 

He  formed  a  resolution  j  and  after  that  he  could  make 
pretence  of  slumber  no  longer.  Rising  and  dressing  him- 
self, he  sat  down  and  waited  for  day. 

That  night  Stephen  was  restless  too.  Not  because  of 
the  unwontedness  of  a  return  to  English  scenery ;  not  be- 
cause he  was  about  to  meet  his  parents,  and  settle  down 
for  a  while  to  English  cottage  life.  He  was  indulging  in 
dreams,  and  for  the  nonce  the  warehouses  of  Bombay  and 
the  plains  and  forts  of  Poonah  were  but  a  shadow's  shad- 
ow. His  dream  was  based  on  this  one  atom  of  fact ;  El- 
fride and  Knight  had  become  separated,  and  their  engage- 
ment was  as  if  it  had  never  been.  Their  rupture  must  have 
occurred  soon  after  Stephen's  discovery  of  the  fact  of  iheir 


372  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

union,  and,  Stephen  went  on  to  think,  what  so  probable  as 
that  a  return  of  her  errant  affection  to  himself  was  the 
cause  ? 

We  must  remember  that  Stephen's  opinions  in  this 
matter  were  those  of  a  lover,  and  not  the  balanced  judg- 
ment of  an  unbiassed  spectator.  His  naturally  sanguine 
spirit  built  hope  upon  hope,  till  scarcely  a  doubt  remained 
in  his  mind  that  her  lingering  tenderness  for  him  had  in 
some  way  been  perceived  by  Knight,  and  had  provoked 
their  parting. 

To  go  and  see  Elfride  was  the  suggestion  of  impulses  it 
was  impossible  to  withstand.  At  any  rate,  to  run  down  by 
rail  from  St.  Kirrs  to  Stranton,  a  distance  of  less  than 
twenty  miles,  and  glide  like  a  ghost  about  their  old  haunts, 
making  stealthy  inquiries  about  her,  would  be  a  fascinating 
way  of  passing  the  first  spare  hours  after  reaching  home  on 
the  day  after  the  morrow. 

He  was  now  a  richer  man  than  heretofore,  standing  on 
his  own  bottom ;  and  the  definite  position  in  which  he  had 
rooted  himself  nullified  all  suckers  of  derivation  from  peas- 
ant ancestors.  He  had  become  illustrious,  even  sanguine 
clarusy]\idgmg  from  the  tone  of  the  worthy  mayor  of  St 
Kirrs. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

**  EACH   TO   THE   LOVED  ONE'S    SIDE." 

THE  friends  and  rivals  breakfasted  together  the  next 
morning.  Not  a  word  was  said  on  either  side  upon 
the  matter  discussed  the  previous  evening  so  glibly  and  so 
hollowly.  Stephen  was  absorbed  the  greater  part  of  the 
time  in  wishing  he  were  not  forced  to  stay  in  town  yet  an- 
other day. 

"  I  don't  intend  to  leave  for  St.  Kirrs  till  to-morrow,  as 
you  know,"  he  said  to  Knight  at  the  end  of  the  meal. 
"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  yourself  to-day  ?^ " 

"  I  have  an  engagement  just  before  ten,"  said  Knight 
deliberately.  "  And  after  that  time  I  must  call  upon  two  or 
three  people." 

''  I'll  look  for  you  this  evening,"  said  Stephen. 

"  Yes,  do.  You  may  as  well  come  and  dine  with  me  ; 
that  is,  if  we  can  meet.  I  may  not  sleep  in  London  to- 
night :  in  fact,  I  am  absolutely  unsettled  as  to  my  move- 
ments yet.  However,  the  first  thing  I  am  going  to  do  is  to 
get  my  baggage  shifted  from  this  place  to  Bede's  Inn. 
Good-bye  for  the  present.  I'll  write,  you  know,  if  I  can't 
meet  you." 

It  now  wanted  a  quarter  to  nine  o'clock.  When  Knight 
was  gone,  Stephen  felt  yet  more  impatient  of  the  circum- 
stance that  another  day  would  have  to  drag  itself  away 
wearily  before  he  could  set  out  for  the  spot  of  earth  where- 
on a  soft  thought  of  him  might  perhaps  be  nourished  still. 
On  a  sudden  he  admitted  to  his  mind  the  possibility  that 
the  engagement  he  was  waiting  in  town  to  keep  might  be 
postponed  without  any  particular  harm. 

It  was  no  sooner  perceived  than  attempted.  Looking  at 
his  watch  he  found  it  wanted  forty  minutes  to  the  departure 
of  the  ten-o'clock  train  from  Paddington,  which  left  him  a 


374 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


surplus  quarter  of  an  hour  before  it  would  be  necessary  to 

start  for  the  station. 

Scribbling  a  hasty  note  or  two — one  putting  off  the  meet 
ing,  another  to  Knight,  apologizing  for  not  being  able  to  see 
him  in  the  evening— paying  his  bill,  and  leaving  his  heavier 
luggage  to  follow  him  by  goods-train,  he  jumped  into  a  cab 
and  raided  off  to  the  Great  Western  Station. 

Shortly  afterwards  he  took  his  seat  in  the  railway-car- 
riage. 

The  guard  paused  on  his  whistle,  to  let  into  the  next 
compartment  to  Smith's  a  man  of  whom  Stephen  had  caught 
but  a  hasty  glimpse  as  he  ran  across  the  platform  at  the  last 
moment. 

Smith  sank  back  into  the  carriage  stilled  by  perplexity. 
The  man  was  like  Knight ;  astonishingly  like  him.  Was  it 
possible  it  could  be  he  ?  To  have  got  there,  he  must  have 
driven  like  the  wind  to  Bede's  Inn,  and  hardly  have  alighted 
before  starting  again.  No,  it  could  not  be  he ;  that  was  not 
his  way  of  doing  things. 

During  the  early  part  of  the  journey,  Stephen  Smith's 
thoughts  busied  themselves  till  his  brain  seemed  swollen. 
One  subject  was  concerning  his  own  approaching  actions. 
He  was  a  day  earlier  than  his  letter  to  his  parents  had 
stated,  and  his  arrangement  with  them  had  been  that  they 
should  meet  him  at  Plymouth  ;  a  plan  which  pleased  the 
worthy  couple  beyond  expression.  Once  before  the  same 
engagement  had  been  made,  which  he  had  then  quashed  by 
ante-dating  his  arrival.  This  time  he  would  go  right  on  to 
Stranton  ;  ramble  in  that  well-known  neighborhood  during 
the  evening  and  next  morning,  making  inquiries ;  and  re- 
turn to  Plymouth  to  meet  them  as  arranged  :  a  contrivance 
which  would  leave  their  cherished  project  undisturbed;  re- 
lieving his  own  impatience  also. 

At  Chippenham  there  was  a  little  waiting,  and  son^e 
loosening  and  attaching  of  carriages. 

Stephen  looked  out.  At  the  same  moment  anothei 
man's  head  emerged  from  the  adjoining  window.  Each 
looked  in  the  other's  face. 

Knight  and  Stephen  confronted  one  another. 

"  You  here  ! "  said  the  younger  man. 

*^  Yes.  It  seems  that  you  are  too,"  said  Knight  strangely* 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  375 

"Yes." 

Never  were  the  selfishness  of  love  and  the  cruelty  of 
jealousy  more  clearly  exemplified  than  at  this  moment. 
Each  of  the  two  men  looked  at  his  friend  as  he  had  never 
looked  at  him  before.  Each  was  troubled  2i\.  the  other's  pres- 
ence. 

"  I  thought  you  said  you  were  not  coming  till  to  mor- 
row," remarked  Knight. 

"  I  did.  It  was  an  afterthought  to  come  to-day.  This 
journey  was  your  engagement  then  ? " 

"  No,  it  was  not.  This  is  an  afterthought  of  mine  too. 
I  left  a  note  to  explain  it,  and  account  for  my  not  being 
able  to  meet  you  this  evening  as  we  arranged." 

"  So  did  I  for  you." 

"  You  don't  look  well ;  you  did  not  this  morning.'' 

"  I  have  a  headache.  You  are  paler  to-day  than  you 
were." 

*'  I,  too,  have  been  suffering  from  headache.  We  have 
to  wait  here  a  few  minutes,  I  think." 

They  walked  up  and  down  the  platform,  each  one  more 
and  more  embarrassingly  concerned  with  the  awkwardness 
of  his  friend's  presence.  They  reached  the  end  of  the  foot- 
way, and  paused  in  sheer  absent-mindedness.  Stephen's 
vacant  eyes  rested  upon  the  operations  of  some  porters  who 
were  shifting  a  dark  and  richly-finished  van  from  the  rear 
of  the  train,  to  shunt  another  which  was  between  it  and  the 
fore  part  of  the  train.  This  operation  having  been  con- 
cluded, the  friends  returned  to  the  side  of  their  carriage. 

"Will  you  come  in  here?"  said  Knight,  not  very 
warmly. 

"  1  have  my  rug  and  portmanteau  and  umbrella  with  me  : 
it  is  rather  bothering  to  move  now,"  said  Stephen  reluctantly. 
"  Why  not  you  come  here  ? " 

"I  have  my  traps  too.  It  is  hardly  worth  while  to 
sliift  them,  for  I  shall  see  you  again,  you  know." 

"  O  yes." 

And  each  got  into  his  own  place.  Just  at  starting,  a 
man  on  the  platform  held  up  his  hands  and  stopped  the 
train. 

Stephen  looked  out  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

One  of  the  officials  was  exclaiming  to  another,    "  That 


376 


A  PAIR  OF  BL  UE  E  YES, 


carrLige  should  have  been  attached  again.  Can't  you  see 
it  is  for  the  main  line  ?  Quick  1  What  fools  there  are  in 
the  world ! " 

"  What  a  confounded  nuisance  these  stoppages  are !  *' 
exclaimed  Knight  impatiently,  looking  out  from  his  com- 
partment.    "  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  That  singular  carriage  we  saw  has  been  unfastened 
from  our  train  by  mistake,  it  seems,"  said  Stephen. 

He  was  watching  the  process  of  attaching  it.  The  van 
or  cariiage,  which  he  now  recognized  as  having  seen  at 
Paddington  before  they  started,  was  rich  and  solemn  rather 
than  gloomy  in  aspect.  It  seemed  to  be  quite  new,  and  of 
modern  design,  and  its  impressive  personality  attracted 
the  notice  of  others  besides  himself.  He  beheld  it  gradu- 
ally wheeled  forward  by  two  men  on  each  side ;  slower 
and  more  sadly  it  seemed  to  approach :  then  a  slight  con- 
cussion, and  they  were  connected  with  it,  and  off  again. 

Stephen  sat  all  the  afternoon  pondering  upon  the  reason 
of  Knight's  unexpected  reappearance.  Was  he  going  as  far 
as  Stranton?  If  so,  he  could  only  have  one  object  in  view 
— a  visit  to  Elfride.     And  what  an  idea  it  seemed  ! 

At  Plymouth,  Smith  partook  of  a  little  refreshment,  and 
then  went  round  to  the  side  from  which  the  Stranton  train 
started. 

Knight  was  already  there. 

Stephen  walked  up,  and  stood  beside  him  without  speak- 
ing. Two  men  at  this  moment  crept  out  from  among  the 
wheels  of  the  waiting  train. 

"The  carriage  is  light  enough,"  said  one  in  a  grim 
tone.     "Light  as  vanity:  full  of  nothing." 

"  Nothing  in  size,  but  a  good  deal  in  signification/* 
said  the  other,  a  man  of  brighter  mind  and  manners. 

Smith  then  perceived  that  to  their  train  was  attached 
that  same  carriage  of  grand  and  dark  aspect  which  had 
haunted  them  all  the  way  from  London. 

"  You  are  going  on,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  Knight,  turning 
to  Stephen,  after  idly  looking  at  the  same  object. 

"  Yes." 

"  We  may  as  well  travel  together  for  the  remaining  dis- 
tance, may  we  not  ? " 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES  377 

"Ceitainly  wewill;"and  they  both  entered  the  same 
door. 

Evening  drew  on  apace.  It  chanced  to  be  the  eve  of 
St.  Valentine's — that  bishop  of  blessed  memory  to  youthful 
lovers — and  the  sun  shone  low  under  the  rim  of  a  thick 
hard  cloud,  decorating  the  eminences  of  the  landscape 
with  crowns  of  orange  fire.  As  the  train  changed  its 
direction  on  a  curve,  the  same  rays  stretched  in  through 
the  window,  and  coaxed  open  Knight's  half-closed  eyes. 

"  You  will  get  out  at  St.  Kirrs,  I  suppose  ? "  he  mur- 
mured. 

"  No,"  said  Stephen.  "  I  am  not  expected  till  to-mor- 
row." 

Knight  was  silent. 

"  And  you — are  you  going  to  Endelstow  ? "  said  the 
younger  man  pointedly. 

"  Since  you  ask,  I  can  do  no  less  than  say  I  am. 
Stephen,"  continued  Knight  slowly,  and  with  more  reso- 
lution of  manner  than  he  had  shown  all  the  day,  "  I  am 
going  to  Endelstow  to  see  if  Elfride  Swancourt  is  still  free ; 
and  if  so,  to  ask  her  to  be  my  wife." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Stephen  Smith. 

"  I  think  you'll  lose  your  labor,"  Knight  returned  with 
decision. 

"Naturally  you  do."  There  was  a  strong  accent  of 
bitterness  in  Stephen's  voice.  "  You  might  have  said  hope 
mstead  oi  think ^"^  he  added. 

"  I  might  have  done  no  such  thing.  I  gave  you  my 
opinion.  Elfride  Swancourt  may  have  loved  you  once,  no 
doubt,  but  it  was  when  she  was  so  young  that  she  hardly 
knew  her  ov/n  mind." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Stephen  laconically.  "  She  knew 
her  mind  as  well  as  I  did.  We  are  the  same  age.  If  you 
hadn't  interfered — " 

"  Don't  say  that— don't  say  it,  Stephen  I  How  can 
you  make  out  that  I  interfered  ?     Be  just,  please." 

"  Well,"  said  his  friend,  "  she  was  mine  before  she  was 
yours — you  know  that !  And  it  seemed  a  hard  thing  to 
find  you  had  her,  and  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  you  all 
might  have  turned  out  well  for  me." 

Stephen  spoke  with  a  swelling  heart,  and  looked  out 


378  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES, 

of  the  window  to  hide  the  emotion  that  would  make  itself 
visible  upon  his  face. 

"  It  is  absurd,"  said  Knight  in  a  kinder  tone,  "  for  you 
to  look  at  the  matter  in  that  light.  What  I  tell  you  is  for 
your  good.  You  naturally  do  not  like  to  realize  the  truth 
— that  her  liking  for  you  was  only  a  girl's  first  fancy,  which 
has  no  root  ever." 

"  It  is  not  truel"  said  Stephen  passionately.  "It  was 
you  put  me  out.  And  now  you'll  be  pushing  in  again 
between  us,  and  depriving  me  of  my  chance  again !  My 
right,  that's  what  it  is  !  How  ungenerous  of  you  to  come 
anew  and  try  to  take  her  away  from  me  !  When  you  had 
her,  I  did  not  interfere  ;  and  you  might,  I  think,  Mr. 
Knight,  do  by  me  as  I  did  by  you  !  " 

"  Don't  *Mr.'  me;  you  are  as  well  in  the  world  as  I 
am  now." 

"  First  love  is  deepest ;  and  that  was  mine." 

"  Who  told  you  that  1 "  said  Knight  superciliously. 

"  I  had  her  first  love.  And  it  was  through  me  that 
you  and  she  were  parted.     I  can  guess  that  well  enough.'* 

"  It  was.  And  if  I  were  to  explain  to  you  in  what  way 
that  operated  in  parting  us,  I  should  convince  you  that 
you  do  quite  wrong  in  intruding  upon  her — that,  as  I  said 
at  first,  your  labor  will  be  lost.  I  don't  choose  to  explain, 
because  the  particulars  are  painful.  But  if  you  won't 
listen  to  me,  go  on,  for  heaven's  sake.  I  don't  care  what 
you  do,  my  boy." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  domineer  over  me  as  you  do  ! 
Just  because,  when  I  was  a  lad,  I  was  accustomed  to  look 
up  to  you  as  a  master,  and  you  helped  me  a  little,  for 
which  I  cared  for  you  and  have  loved  you  too  much,  you 
assume  too  much  now,  and  step  in  before  me.  It  is  cruel 
— it  is  unjust — of  you  to  injure  me  so  !  " 

*'  Knight  showed  himself  keenly  hurt  at  this.  "  Ste- 
phen, those  words  are  untrue  and  unworthy  of  any  man, 
and  they  are  unworthy  of  you.  You  know  you  wrong  me. 
If  you  have  ever  profited  by  any  instruction  of  mine,  I  am 
only  too  glad  to  know  it.  You  know  it  was  given  un- 
grudgingly, and  that  I  have  never  once  looked  upon  it  as 
making  you  in  any  way  a  debtor  to  me." 

Stephen's  naturally  gentle  nature  was  touched,  and  it 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  379 

was  in  a  troubled  voice  that  he  said,  "  Ves,  yes.     I  am 
unjust  in  that — I  own  it." 

"  This  is  St.  Kirrs  Station,  I  think.  Are  you  going  to 
get  out  ? " 

Knight's  manner  of  returning  to  the  matter  in  hand 
drew  Stephen  again  into  himself.  "  No  ;  I  told  you  I  was 
going  to  Stranton,"  he  resolutely  replied. 

"  Knight's  features  became  impassive,  and  he  said  no 
more.  The  train  continued  rattling  on,  and  Stephen 
leaned  back  in  his  corner  and  closed  his  eyes.  The  yel- 
lows of  evening  had  turned  to  browns,  the  dusky  shades 
thickened,  and  a  flying  cloud  of  dust  occasionally  stroked 
the  window — borne  upon  a  chilling  breeze  whicli  blew 
from  the  northeast  The  previously  gilded  but  now 
dreary  hills  began  to  lose  their  daylight  aspects  of  rotun- 
dity, and  to  become  black  discs  vandyked  against  the  sky, 
all  nature  wearing  the  cloak  that  six  o'clock  casts  over  the 
landscape  at  this  time  of  the  year. 

Stephen  started  up  in  bewilderment  after  a  long  still- 
ness, and  it  was  some  time  before  he  recollected  him- 
self. 

"  Well,  how  real,  how  real  I "  he  exclaimed,  brushmg 
his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

"What  is?"  said  Knight. 

"  That  dream.  I  fell  asleep  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
have  had  a  dream — the  most  vivid  I  ever  remember." 

He  wearily  looked  out  into  the  gloom.  They  were 
now  drawing  near  to  Stranton.  The  lighting  of  the  lamps 
was  perceptible  through  the  veil  of  evening — each  flame 
starting  into  existence  at  intervals,  and  blinking  weakly 
against  the  gusts  of  wind. 

"  What  did  you  dream,"  said  Knight  moodily. 

"O,  nothing  to  be  told.  'Twas  a  sort  of  incubus. 
There  is  never  anything  in  dreams." 

"  I  hardly  supposed  there  was." 

"  I  know  that.  However,  what  I  so  vividly  dreamt  was 
this,  since  you  would  like  to  hear.  It  was  the  brightest  of 
bright  mornings  at  East  Endelstow  church,  and  you  and  I 
stood  by  the  font.  Far  away  in  the  chancel  Lord  Luxellian 
was  standing  alone,  cold  and  impassive,  and  utterly  unlike 
his  usual  self;  but  I  knew  it  was  he.     Inside  the  altar  rail 


jgQ  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

Stood  a  strange  clergyman  with  his  book  open.  He  looked 
up  and  said  to  Lord  Luxellian,  '  Where's  the  bride  ? '  Lord 
Luxellian  said,  *  There's  no  bride.'  At  that  moment  some- 
body came  in  at  the  door,  and  I  knew  her  to  be  Lady  Lux- 
ellian who  died.  He  turned  and  said  to  her,  '  I  thought 
you  were  in  the  vault  below  us ;  but  that  could  have  been 
only  a  dream  of  mine.  Come  on.'  Then  she  came  on. 
And  in  brushing  between  us  she  chilled  me  so  with  cold 
that  I  exclaimed,  '  The  life  is  gone  out  of  me  ! '  and,  in  the 
way  of  dreams,  I  awoke.     But  here  we  are  at  Stranton." 

They  were  slowly  entering  the  station. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  said  Knight.  Do  you 
really  intend  to  call  on  the  Swancourts  ? " 

*'  By  no  means.  I  am  going  to  make  inquiries  first.  1 
shall  stay  at  the  Luxellian  Arms  to-night.  You  will  go  right 
on  to  Endelstow,  I  suppose,  at  once  ?  '• 

"  I  can  hardly  do  that  at  this  time  of  the  day.  Perhaps 
you  are  not  aware  that  the  family — her  father  at  any  rate. 
— is  at  variance  with  me  as  much  as  with  you." 

"  I  didn't  know  it." 

**  And  that  I  cannot  rush  into  the  house  as  an  old  friend 
any  more  than  you  can.  Certainly  I  have  the  privileges  of 
a  distant  relationship,  whatever  they  may  be." 

Knight  let  down  the  window,  and  looked  ahead.  "  There 
are  a  great  many  people  at  the  station,"  he  said.  "  They 
seem  all  to  be  on  the  look-out  for  us." 

"When  the  train  stopped,  the  half-estranged  friends 
could  perceive  by  the  lamplight  that  the  assemblage  of 
idlers  enclosed  as  a  kernel  a  group  of  men  in  black  cloaks. 
A  side  gate  in  the  platform-railing  was  open,  and  outside 
this  stood  a  dark  vehicle,  which  they  could  not  at  first  char- 
acterize. Then  Knight  saw  on  its  upper  part  forms  against 
the  sky  like  fir-trees  by  night,  and  knew  the  vehicle  to  be  a 
hearse.  Few  people  were  at  the  carriage-doors  to  meet  the 
passengers  ;  the  majority  had  congregated  at  this  upper 
end.  Knight  and  Stephen  alighted,  and  turned  for  a  mo- 
ment in  the  same  direction. 

The  sombre  van,  which  had  accompanied  them  all  day, 
now  began  to  reveal  that  their  destination  was  also  its  own. 
It  had  been  drawn  up  exactly  opposite  the  open  gate.  The 
bystanders  all  fpll  hark,  forming  a  clear  lane  from  the  gate- 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


38: 


way  to  the  van,  and  the  men  in  cloaks  entered  the  latter 
conveyance, 

"  They  are  laborers,  I  fancy,"  said  Stephen.  "  Ah,  it  is 
strange ;  but  I  recognize  three  of  them  as  Endelstow  men. 
Rather  remarkable,  this." 

Presently  they  began  to  come  out,  two  and  two  ;  and 
under  the  rays  of  the  lamp  they  were  seen  to  bear  between 
them  a  light-colored  coffin  of  satin-wood,  brightly  polished, 
and  without  a  nail.  The  eight  men  took  the  burden  upon 
their  shoulders,  and  slowly  crossed  with  it  over  to  the  gate. 

Knight  and  Stephen  went  outside,  and  came  close  to 
the  procession  as  it  moved  off.  A  carriage  belonging  to  the 
cortege  turned  round  close  to  a  lamp.  The  rays  shone  in 
upon  the  face  of  the  vicar  of  Endelstow,  Mr.  Swancourt — 
looking  many  years  older  than  when  they  had  last  seen  him. 
Knight  and  Stephen  involuntarily  drew  back. 

Knight  spoke  to  a  bystander.  "  What  has  Mr.  Swan- 
court  to  do  with  that  funeral  ?  " 

"  He  is  the  lady's  father,"  said  the  bystander. 

"What  lady's  father?"  said  Knight,  in  a  voice  so  hol- 
low that  the  man  stared  at  him. 

"  The  father  of  the  lady  in  the  coffin.  She  died  in  Lon- 
don, you  know,  and  has  been  brought  here  by  this  train. 
She  is  to  be  taken  home  to-night,  and  buried  to-morrow." 

Knight  stood  staring  blindly  at  where  the  hearse  had 
been  ;  as  if  he  saw  it,  or  some  one,  there.  Then  he  turned, 
and  beheld  the  lithe  form  of  Stephen  bowed  down  like  that 
of  an  old  man.  He  took  his  young  friend's  arm,  and  led 
him  away  from  the  light. 


CHAPTER  XL. 


WELCOME,  PROUD   LADY." 


HALF  an  hour  has  passed.  Two  miserable  men  are 
wandering  in  the  darkness  up  the  road  from  Stran- 
ton  to  Endelstow. 

"  Has  she  broken  her  heart ; "  said  Harry  Knight 
"  Can  it  be  that  I  have  killed  her  ?  I  was  bitter  with  her, 
Stephen,  and  she  has  died  !  And  may  God  have  no  mercy 
upon  me  ! " 

"  How  can  you  have  killed  her  more  than  I  ? " 

"  Why,  I  went  away  from  her — stole  away  almost — and 
didn't  tell  her  I  should  not  come  again  \  and  at  that  last 
meeting  I  did  not  kiss  her  once,  but  let  her  miserably  go. 
I  have  been  a  fool — a  fool !  I  wish  the  most  abject  con- 
fession of  it  before  crowds  of  my  countrymen  could  in  any 
way  make  amends  to  my  darling  for  the  intense  cruelty  I 
have  shown  her." 

"  Your  darling  !  "  said  Stephen,  with  a  sort  of  wild  laugh. 
"  Any  man  can  say  that,  I  suppose  ;  any  man  can.  I  know 
this,  she  was  my  darling  before  she  was  yours  ;  and  after  too. 
If  anybody  has  a  right  to  call  her  his  own,  it  is  1." 

"  You  talk  like  a  man  in  the  dark  ;  which  is  what  you 
are.  Did  she  ever  do  anything  for  you  1  Risk  her  name, 
for  instance,  for  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  did,"  said  Stephen  emphatically. 

"  Not  entirely.  Did  she  ever  live  for  you — prove  that 
she  could  not  live  v/ithout  you — laugh  and  weep  for  you }  " 

*'  Yes." 

"  Never  !  Did  she  ever  risk  her  life  for  you — no  !  My 
dailing  did  for  me." 

"  Then  it  was  in  kindness  only.  When  did  she  risk  her 
life  for  you  ? " 

*'  To  save  mine  on  the  cliff  yonder.     The  poor  child  was 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  3 S3 

with  me  looking  at  the  approach  of  the  Puffin  steamboat, 
and  I  slipped  down.  We  both  had  a  narrow  escape.  I 
wish  we  had  died  there." 

"  Ah,  but  wait,"  Stephen  pleaded,  with  wet  eyes.  "  She 
went  on  that  cliff  to  see  me  arrive  home  :  she  had  promis- 
ed it.  She  told  me  she  would  months  before.  And  would 
she  have  gone  there  if  she  had  not  cared  for  me  at  all  ?" 

"  You  have  an  idea  that  Elfride  died  for  you,  no  doubt," 
said  Knight  with  a  mournful  sarcasm  too  nerveless  to  sup- 
port itself. 

"  Never  mind.  If  we  find  that — that  she  died  yours,  I'll 
say  no  more  ever." 

"  And  if  we  find  she  died  yours,  I'll  say  no  more." 

"  Very  well — so  shall  it  be." 

The  dark  clouds  into  which  the  sun  had  sunk  had  begun 
to  drop  rain  in  an  increasing  volume. 

"  Can  we  wait  somewhere  here  till  this  shower  is  over?" 
said  Stephen  desultorily. 

"  As  you  will.  But  it  is  not  worth  while.  We'll  hear 
the  particulars,  and  return.  Don't  let  people  know  who  we 
are.     I  am  not  much  now." 

They  had  reached  a  point  at  which  the  road  branched 
into  two — ^just  outside  the  west  village,  one  fork  of  the  di- 
verging routes  passing  into  the  latter  place,  the  other 
stretching  on  to  East  Endelstow.  Having  come  some  of 
the  distance  by  the  footpath,  they  now  found  that  the  hearse 
was  only  a  little  in  advance  of  them. 

"  I  fancy  it  has  turned  off  to  East  Endelstow.  Can  you 
see  ? " 

*'  I  cannot.     You  must  be  mistaken." 

Knight  and  Stephen  entered  the  village.  A  bar  of  fiery 
light  lay  across  the  road,  proceeding  from  the  half-open 
door  of  a  smithy,  in  which  bellows  were  heard  blowing  and 
a  hammer  ringing.  The  rain  had  increased,  and  they  me- 
chanically turned  for  shelter  towards  the  warm  and  cosy 
scene. 

Close  at  their  heels  came  another  man,  without  overcoat 
or  umbrella,  and  with  a  parcel  under  his  arm. 

"  A  wet  evening,"  he  said  to  the  two  friends,  and  passed 
by  them.  They  stood  in  the  outer  penthouse,  but  the  man 
went  in  to  the  fire. 


284  ^  /'^/i?  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

The  smith  ceased  his  blowing,  and  began  talking  to  the 
man  who  had  entered. 

"  I  have  come  from  Stranton,"  he  said.  "  Was  obliged 
to  come  to-night,  you  know." 

He  held  the  parcel,  which  was  a  flat  one,  towards  the 
firelight,  to  learn  if  the  rain  had  penetrated  it.  Resting  it 
edgewise  on  the  forge,  he  supported  it  perpendicularly  with 
one  hand,  wiping  his  face  with  the  handkerchief  he  held  in 
the  other. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  what  I've  got  here  ? "  he  observed 
to  the  smith. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  the  smith,  pausing  again  on  his 
bellows. 

"  As  the  rain's  not  over,  I'll  show  you,"  said  the  bearer. 

He  laid  the  thin  and  broad  package,  which  had  acute 
angles  in  different  directions,  flat  upon  the  anvil,  and  the 
smith  blew  up  the  fire  to  give  him  more  light.  First,  after 
untying  the  package,  a  sheet  of  brown  paper  was  removed  : 
this  was  laid  flat.  Then  he  unfolded  a  piece  of  baize  :  this 
also  he  spread  flat  on  the  paper.  The  third  covering  was 
a  wrapper  of  tissue  paper,  which  was  spread  out  in  its  turn. 
The  enclosure  was  revealed,  and  he  held  it  up  for  the  smith's 
inspection. 

"  O,— I  see  !  "  said  the  smith,  kindling  with  a  chastened 
interest,  and  drawing  close.  "  Poor  young  lady— ah,  a  ter- 
rible melancholy  thing,  so  soon  too  !  " 

Knight  and  Stephen  turned  their  heads  and  looked. 

"  And  what's  that  1 "  continued  the  smith. 

"That's  the  coronet— beautifully  finished,  isn't  it?  Ah, 
that  cost  some  money  !  " 

"  'Tis  as  fine  a  bit  of  metal-work  as  ever  I  see— that 
'lis." 

"  It  came  from  the  same  people  as  the  coffin,  you  know, 
but  was  not  ready  soon  enough  to  be  sent  round  to  the 
Lown-house  yesterday.     I've  got  to  fix  it  on  this  very  night." 

The  care  fully -packed  articles  were  a  coffin-plate  and 
coronet 

Knight  and  Stephen  came  forward.  The  undertaker's 
man,  on  seeing  them  look  for  the  inscription,  civilly  turned 
it  round  towards  them,  and  each  read,  almost  at  one 
moment,  by  the  ruddy  light  of  the  coals : 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES,  385 

ESIift  of  ^ptitjstr  l^ujao  BLuiriKan, 

jFiftwntj)  33aron  HLuirilfou: 

Mih  jF^iruars  10,  1867. 

They  read  it,  and  read  it,  and  read  it  again— Stephen 
and  Xnight — as  if  animated  by  one  soul.  Then  Stephen 
put  his  hand  upon  Knight's  arm,  and  they  retired  from  the 
yellow  glow,  farther,  farther,  till  the  chill  darkness  enclosed 
them  round,  and  the  quiet  sky  asserted  its  presence  over- 
*head  as  a  dim  grey  sheet  of  blank  monotony. 

"  Where  shall  we  go  ?  "  said  Stephen. 

"  I  don't  know." 

A  long  silence  ensued.  "  Elfride  married,"  said  Ste- 
phen then  in  a  whisper,  as  if  he  feared  to  let  the  assertion 
loose  on  the  world. 

"  False,"  whispered  Knight. 

"  And  dead.  Denied  us  both.  I  hate  *  false  ' — I  hate 
it  J" 

Knight  made  no  answer. 

Nothing  was  heard  by  them  now  save  the  slow  measure- 
ment of  time  by  their  beating  pulses,  the  soft  touch  of  the 
dribbling  rain  upon  their  clothes,  and  the  low  purr  of  the 
blacksmith's  bellows  hard  by. 

"  Shall  we  follow  Elfie  any  farther  ? "  Stephen  said. 

*'  No  :  let  us  leave  her  alone.  She  is  beyond  our  love, 
and  let  her  be  beyond  our  reproach.  Since  we  don't  know 
half  the  reasons  that  made  her  do  as  she  did,  Stephen,  how 
can  we  say,  even  now,  that  she  was  not  pure  and  true  in 
heart?"  Knight's  voice  had  now  become  mild  and  gentle 
as  a  child's.  He  went  on  :  "  Can  we  call  her  ambitious  ? 
No.  Circumstance  has,  as  usual,  overpowered  her  pur- 
poses— fragile  and  delicate  as  she — liable  to  be  overthrown 
in  a  moment  by  the  coarse  elements  of  accident.  I  know 
that's  it— don't  you  ? " 

"  It  may  be — it  must  be^     Let  us  go  on." 

They  proceeded  to  retrace  their  steps  towards  Stranton, 
and  wandered  on  in  silence  for  many  minutes.  Stephen 
then  paused,  and  lightly  put  his  hand  within  Knight's  arm. 

17 


386  ^  P^^R  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

"  I  wonder  how  she  came  to  die,"  he  said  in  a  broken 
whisper.     "  Shall  we  return  and  learn  a  little  more  ? " 

They  turned  back  again,  and  entering  Endelstow  a  second 
time,  came  to  a  door  which  was  standing  open.  It  was 
that  of  an  inn  called  the  Welcome  Home,  and  the  house 
appeared  to  have  been  recently  modernized.  The  name 
too  was  not  that  of  the  same  landlord  as  formerly,  but  Mar- 
tin Cannisters. 

Knight  and  Smith  entered.  The  inn  was  quite  silent, 
and  they  followed  the  passage  till  they  reached  the  kitch- 
en, where  a  huge  fire  was  burning,  which  roared  up  the^ 
chimney,  and  sent  over  the  floor,  ceiling,  and  newly-whit- 
ened walls  a  glare  so  intense  as  to  make  the  candle  quite 
a  secondary  light.  A  woman  in  a  white  apron  and  black 
gown  was  standing  there  alone  behind  a  cleanly-scrubbed 
deal-table.  Stephen  first,  and  Knight  afterwards,  recog- 
nized her  as  Unity,  who  had  been  parlor  maid  at  the  vic- 
arage and  young-lady's  maid  at  the  Crags. 

"  Unity,"  said  Stephen  softly,  "  don't  you  know  me  ? " 

She  looked  inquiringly  a  moment,  and  her  face  cleared 
up. 

"  Mr.  Smith— ay  that  it  is  !  "  she  said.  "  And  that's 
Mr.  Knight.  I  beg  you  to  sit  down.  Perhaps  you  know 
that  since  I  saw  you  last  I  have  married  Martin  Cannis- 
ter." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  married  ? " 

"About  five  months.  We  were  married  the  same  day 
that  my  dear  Miss  Elfie  became  Lady  Luxellian."  Tears 
appeared  in  Unity's  eyes,  and  filled  them,  and  fell  down 
her  cheeks  in  spite  of  efforts  to  the  contrary. 

The  agony  of  the  two  men  in  resolutely  controlling 
themselves  when  thus  exampled  to  admit  relief  of  the 
same  kind  was  distressing.  They  both  turned  their  backs 
and  walked  a  few  steps  away. 

Then  Unity  said,  "  Will  you  go  into  the  parlor,  gentle- 
men ? " 

*'  Let  us  stay  here  with  her,"  Knight  whispered,  and 
turning  said,  "No;  we  will  sit  here.  We  want  to  rest 
here  for  a  time,  if  you  please." 

That  evening  the  sorrowing  friends  sat  with  their  host- 
ess beside  the  large  fire,  Knight  in  the  recess  formed  by 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.  387 

the  chimney  breast,  where  he  was  in  the  shade.  And  by 
showing  a  little  confidence  they  won  hers,  and  she  told 
them  what  they  had  staid  to  hear — the  latter  history  of 
poor  Elfride. 

"  One  day — after  you,  Mr.  Knight,  left  us  for  the  last 
time — she  was  missed  from  the  Crags,  and  her  father  went 
after  her,  and  brought  her  home  ill.  Where  she  went  to,  I 
never  knew — but  she  was  very  unwell  for  weeks  afterwards. 
And  she  said  to  me  that  she  didn't  care  what  became  of 
her,  and  she  wished  she  could  die.  When  she  was  better, 
I  said  she  would  live  to  be  married  yet,  and  she  said  then, 
"  Yes  j  I'll  do  anything  for  the  benefit  of  my  family  so  as  to 
turn  my  useless  life  to  some  practical  account."  Well,  it  be- 
gan like  this  about  Lord  Luxellian  courting  her.  The  first 
Lady  Luxellian  had  died,  and  he  was  in  great  trouble  be- 
cause the  little  girls  were  left  motherless.  After  a  while 
they  used  to  come  and  see  her  in  their  little  black  frocks, 
for  they  liked  her  as  well  or  better  than  their  own  mother 
— that's  true.  They  used  to  call  her  "  little  mamma."  These 
children  made  her  a  shade  livelier,  but  she  was  not  the  girl 
she  had  been — I  could  see  that — and  she  grew  thinner  a 
good  deal.  Well,  my  lord  got  to  ask  the  Swancourts  oftener 
and  oftener  to  dinner — nobody  else  of  his  acquaintance — 
and  at  last  the  vicar's  family  were  backwards  and  forwards 
at  all  hours  of  the  day.  Well,  people  say  that  the  little  girls 
asked  their  father  to  let  Miss  Elfride  come  and  live  with 
them,  and  that  he  said  perhaps  he  would  if  they  were  good 
children.  However,  the  time  went  on,  and  one  day  I  said, 
"  Miss  Elfride,  you  don't  look  so  well  as  you  used  to  ;  and 
though  nobody  else  seems  to  notice  it,  I  do.' 

"  She  laughed  a  little,  and  said,  I  shall  live  to  be  mar- 
ried yet,  as  you  told  me." 

"  Shall  you,  miss  ?    I  am  glad  to  hear  that,"  I  said. 

"  Who  do  you  think  I  am  going  to  be  married  to  ?  "  she 
said  again. 

"  Mr  Knight,  I  suppose,"  said  I. 

"  O  !  "  she  cried,  and  turned  off  so  white,  and  afore  I 
could  get  to  her  she  had  sunk  down  like  a  heap  of  clothes, 
and  fainted  away.  Well  then  she  came  to  herself  after  a 
time,  and  said, 

"Unity,  now  we'll  go  on  with  our  conversation." 


388  A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

"  Better  not  to-day,  miss,"  I  said. 

"Yes,  we  will,"  she  said.  Who  do  you  think  I  am  gomg 
CO  be  married  to  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  said  this  time. 

*'  Guess,"  she  said. 

"  'Tisnt  my  lord,  is  it  ?  "  says  I. 

**  Yes,  'tis,"  says  she,  in  a  sick  wild  way. 

"  But  he  don't  come  courting  much,"  I  said. 

"  Ah,  you  don't  kHow,"  she  said,  and  told  me  'twas  go- 
ing to  be  in  October.  After  that  she  freshened  up  a  bit — 
whether  'twas  with  the  thought  of  getting  away  from  home 
or  not,  I  don't  know.  For,  perhaps,  I  may  as  well  speak 
plainly,  and  tell  you  that  her  home  was  no  home  to  her  now. 
Her  father  was  bitter  to  her  and  harsh  upon  her;  and 
though  Mrs.  Swancourt  was  well  enough  in  her  way,  'twas 
a  sort  of  cold  politeness  that  was  not  worth  much,  and  the 
little  thing  had  a  worrying  time  of  it  altogether.  About  a 
month  before  the  wedding,  she  and  my  lord  and  the  two 
children  used  to  ride  about  together  upon  horseback,  and  a 
very  pretty  sight  they  were ;  and  if  you'll  believe  me,  I 
never  saw  him  once  with  her  unless  the  children  were  with 
her  too — which  made  the  courting  so  strange-looking.  Ay, 
and  my  lord  is  so  handsome,  you  know,  so  that  at  last  I 
think  she  rather  liked  him  ;  and  I  have  seen  her  smile  and 
blush  a  bit  at  things  he  said.  He  wanted  her  the  more  be- 
cause the  children  did,  for  everybody  could  see  that  she  would 
be  a  most  tender  mother  to  them  and  friend  and  playmate  too. 
And  my  lord  is  not  only  handsome,  but  a  splendid  courter, 
and  up  to  all  the  ways  o't.  So  he  made  her  the  beautiful- 
est  presents  ;  ah,  one  I  can  mind — a  lovely  bracelet,  with 
diamonds  and  emeralds.  O,  how  red  her  face  came  when 
she  saw  it !  The  old  roses  came  back  to  her  cheeks  for  a 
minute  or  two  then.  I  helped  dress  her  the  day  we  both  were 
married— it  was  the  best  service  I  did  her,  poor  child  ! 
When  she  was  ready,  I  ran  up  stairs  and  slipped  on  my 
own  wedding  gown,  and  away  they  went,  and  away  went 
Martin  and  I ;  and  no  sooner  had  my  lord  and  my  lady 
been  married  than  the  parson  married  us.  It  was  a  very 
quiet  pair  of  weddings — hardly  anybody  knew  it.  Well, 
hope  will  hold  its  own  in  a  young  heart,  if  so  be  it  can  ;  and 


te3fer--peoKf;-i^^ 

beheld  onw  hi    "I?""  *«  '°^  gro"n;.      ■  .  "^  ^^^  ^'- 

of  its  lusVS:  l!,-"^*  '^^'''er  new  coffin  wh,V^  k  5  ^^'^  "'che 
nished  n  he,,?1,f  "^^«  coffin  s^^h"?  ^^^ '°=' some 

"-1  ^-^^'b^o^tn??  °^^  -°.  '^-Hn, 
Ped,  and  his  whole  ftamfs^em?^  ,*«  coffin.  h"f  ^ 
■Mment    to   grfef      w^^^^^^'^^'y  given  up  in 
";aps    than   aifeht-^ndT    *'"'    y°4- 


388 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 


«  P  ff  kneeling  figure  in  the  dim  light.  Knight  in 
«f  r  ^^  ^nized  the  mourner  as  Lord  Luxellian,  the 
"Yes,  xyeu^j^dofElfride.  ' 

^o   „  y")f^",^^^.hemselves  to  be  intruders. 

u  n  „  essed  Stephen  back,  and  they  silently  with 
„^^^^^^    nad  entered. 

«  v^^"'  •"^'S^^''"  ^^  ^^^^»  ^^  ^  broken  voice.  "We  have 
« -r*^^',  ^^^i  there.  Another  stands  before  us — nearer 
"  But  he  do  i » 

Ah,  you  Q  y  ^\^Q  i^i^gy  ijQ^jj  retraced  their  steps  down 
mg  o  be  in  O^alley  to  Stranton..  . 

whether  *-  ' 

or  nof 

plain" 

Her 

thou 

a  so^ 

lit 

mc- 

chilt 

very 

nev» 

her 


1 


TBB  ENOi. 


S- 

min< 
marric 
When  s. 
own  wed. 
Martin  ana 
been  marrieu  t- 
quiet  pair  of  w^ 
hope  will  hold  its 


-autiful- 

ilet,  with 

.ame  when 

cheeks  for  a 

vve  both  were 

poor  child ! 

pped  on  my 

i  away  went 

nd  my  lady 

'^as  a  very 

^  it.     Well, 

it  can  ;  and 


I 


<etf 


(Scitc. 


JUHI 


2  t33* 


General  L 
Unlve«g°? 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


